


We're All in the Gutter, but Some of Us Are Looking at the Stars

by chipofftheoldblock



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angry Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Copious Amounts Of Swearing, Internalized Homophobia, Lots of punching Hydra, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, fear not! Steve doesn't act hideously out of character and fuck off back to the 40s, pretty much a fix-it for Marvel after TWS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-15 06:32:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19290166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chipofftheoldblock/pseuds/chipofftheoldblock
Summary: ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, and Maria looked a little appeased, though now she was gesturing for him to get off stage. And then he smiled real big and wide and sincere and said, ‘Guess I’m just real fuckin’ tired of everyone treating me like an idiot. To answer your question, ain’t a lot I really miss. Polio was pretty fuckin’ awful, and so was the food, and the racism and homophobia and hatred so many folks had for one another for dumb-as-shit differences was so goddamn stupid -’Maria was suddenly on stage beside him, pulling his microphone away and grabbing his arm with a steel grip. Steve just leaned over to Nat’s mic with a shit-eating grin on his face and said, ‘Thank you so much for your time.’Steve's tired of the world treating him like he doesn't know a damn thing about the future. Bucky's tired of not knowing a damn thing about the past.They meet somewhere in the middle.





	1. Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep; I Am Not There, I Do Not Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> 'Hey,' I said after watching Endgame, 'You know what'd be real great? Writing a short post-TWS fic to take away the pain.' Anyway, to cut a long story short my first draft was, like, ~37000 words? And then it ballooned further into this behemoth which is circa 45000 words, which is a hideous amount of words to have written and I could have actually written over half of my real novel in that time.
> 
> I should be uploading a chapter a day - I'm just going through and making a few final edits on each as I go. Anyway, enjoy!

Here’s the thing: Steve adapted to the future pretty quick.

People tended to underestimate just how much hadn’t really changed. Cell phones? Sure, the range of what they could do was pretty great (Steve was a huge fan of being able to look up anything any time he needed to) but communications-wise, it was ultimately just a wireless teletype machine with digital printout. Television hadn’t really changed either, they’d just worked out how to make it coloured and bigger. Microwaves were around back in his day, and computers, and cars, and a hell of a lot more. Just because they’d worked out how to dress it up in the future didn’t mean he couldn’t work it out.

(The fact that Bucky had been a science geek and made him stay up to date hadn’t hurt, either).

So yeah, Steve adapted pretty quick. But here’s the thing: no one expected him to adapt.

 

It was the first press conference after the Battle of New York – after the Chitauri invasion. His first official public appearance in the twenty-first century, and everyone had been babying him leading up to it.

‘Hey Cap, don’t get freaked out by the number of reporters there.’ _Thanks guys, if only I’d spent months acting in front of huge crowds in the 40s, oh wait_.

‘Rogers, remember, everything you say can be recorded now.’ _Yeah, we had that kinda thing back in the day too._

‘I know things might be different now, but don’t say anything that’ll rock the boat.’ _Buddy, my entire life is based on rocking the boat._

 

‘Captain Rogers, how is it that you’re here with us now?’ Cameras flashed, and Steve blinked the glare out of his vision. The story about how he’d survived had already been distributed to the media – but he guessed they just wanted to hear it in his words. (And wasn’t this meant to be about the Chitauri invasion, anyway?)

‘As I understand it, when I crashed that plane I essentially entered suspended animation. Being frozen that way kept me alive for 70 years until SHIELD found me.’

More clamouring, until someone picked out another reporter. ‘Being from the 40s, what’s your stance on same-sex marriage?’

Steve blinked again, but not because of the flashing lights this time. ‘Uh – I think people should be able to marry whoever they like.’

That answer got a definite reaction, though Steve couldn’t judge whether it was good or bad.

Another reporter. ‘What are your first impressions of the twenty-first century? It must all be so strange for you, everything being so different and modern.’

Steve shrugged. ‘Things have changed, but not that much. You’ve got a lot of good now, but from what I’ve seen so far you’re still grappling with societal issues we had back in the 40s.’

The reporter had an odd look on his face as he sat back down, like he’d heard an answer he didn’t like. Most of the room did, really. Steve didn’t work it out until later that day, when he was reviewing a video of the press conference but then got distracted and stumbled on an article, written pre-defrosting, talking about the impact Captain America had had on the world.

Slightly horrified, he dug deeper online and found another. And another. All this information on him online – and they’d goddamn _sanitised_ him. Instead of talking about back-alley fights, it got swept under the rug as ‘schoolyard brawls’. They totally ignored the fact that he’d used five separate fake identities to try sign up for the army – instead, it was just ‘persistent attempts’. Him originally obeying the direct orders of a superior officer to go rescue Bucky and the 107th was ‘taking initiative’. And the worst bit. The absolute goddamn worst fucking bit of all –

‘Christ,’ Steve said. ‘They honestly think I used to fucking say ‘golly’.’

He’d said it once, as a fucking gag. Apparently it had been caught on camera, and someone, years later, had lip-read Captain America saying golly and that was his legacy. Captain America, champion of the no-swearing brigade. Christ, if Bucky could see him now.

There was something missing from all this, he realised as he idly clicked through links about Captain America. And that something was Steve Rogers. Sure, Steve Rogers was there – said right there on the webpage that the real identity of Captain America was Steve Rogers. But it was in name only. Everything about him had been filled in with information the Army had released, like his personality (no mention of being reckless or having problems with authority or fighting anyone who was the least bit intolerant) and his mannerisms (apparently he used to give incredible speeches about freedom and patriotism and the meaning of being an American).

(He had a nagging feeling that the Howling Commandos, after the war, probably had a hand in some of this.)

But this is what had happened at the press conference. This was why they hadn’t liked his answer.

With a twinge deep in the pit of his stomach, he realised that no one wanted slightly-irate PTSD-ridden liberal Steve Rogers, who had nightmares about war and death and blood and still wasn’t afraid to get his knuckles dirtied with any of it. They wanted gold star boy scout Captain America, who smiled real big and wide and sincere and said things like ‘gosh’ and ‘gee whiz’ like a shining example to humanity and just didn’t understand any of this new-fangled twenty-first century technology, y’know?

The world had an image of Captain America in its mind. And Steve Rogers needed someone to be.

 

At the next press conference, when someone asked Steve how he was finding the twenty-first century now after a little more time, Steve just smiled real big and wide and sincere and said, ‘Gosh, you know, it’s been so strange.’

 

SHIELD had given him an apartment. A thoughtful gesture, really, apart from the fact that it was outfitted for Captain America, man out of time. Record player, 40s style furniture and fittings, minimal technology.

Honestly? Kind of awful.

The first time Steve saw it, against all politeness in his soul he almost said something about it, something like, ‘Hey, anyway we could modernise this a little?’ or ‘Where the fuck’s the twenty-first century gone?’ But then he saw the look on the SHIELD agent’s face – so excited to show _Captain America_ his new apartment, all done up real nice for him, and he just couldn’t.

Instead, Steve said, ‘Thank you. This place looks great,’ and gave a big wide smile, and sent the agent on her way.

 

( _Dancing monkey_ , a treacherous part of his brain said.

_Shut the fuck up_ , the rest of his brain replied.)

 

Who else was he going to be? There wasn’t a place in the future for back-alley-fighter Steve Rogers, issues-with-authority Steve Rogers, angry-at-injustice Steve Rogers. (Always-afraid-he-wasn’t-quite-right Steve Rogers.) Who there _was_ a place for was Captain America, champion of freedom and liberty and whatever the fuck else. Steve could be Captain America. He could do that. He could be the person people wanted him to be.

He did that for two years.

He did that right up until Bucky Barnes tried to kill him.

 

Steve finally snapped after the whole debacle with SHIELD and Hydra and his best friend coming back as a brain-washed assassin sent to kill him. There’d been a minor Avengers mission, nothing they couldn’t easily handle, but it meant that they were all in Stark Tower afterwards, getting patched up and cooling off.

Clint was perched on the kitchen bench, sporting a brightly coloured band aid across his cheek; Natasha was beside him, cradling a steaming cup of coffee. Bruce was hunched in the corner in a chair, looking somewhere between the world’s worst hangover and the aftermath of a truly godawful panic attack. Tony was busy putting as many shots of expresso into one mug as was physically possible. And Thor - Thor was the only one who looked pleased to be there, but probably that was just how Asgardians were.

And Steve was _tired_. Not just tired from fighting, or not getting enough sleep – Steve was bone tired. The kind of tired where you just kinda want to stop existing, just to stop feeling like this. Or maybe just to _start_ feeling anything at all.

‘Hey Cap, you with us?’ Tony was waving his coffee mug across the room at him, and Steve realised he’d drifted. Normally he’d just nod assent, or smile, but he was so damn over it.

‘My name’s Steve, Tony.’ It came out a little harsher than he’d expected, but he didn’t regret it.

‘I – know?’

Around them, the room had gone still. This was a group of people who fought for a living – they could spot a fight coming a mile away. From across the room, behind Tony, Nat very calmly raised one perfect eyebrow at him. _Don’t start shit, Steve._ But Steve’s default setting was starting shit.

‘No, I don’t think you do. I’m not -’ Steve ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated, hyper-aware of all eyes on him. ‘Look, you’ve got the whole ‘I am Iron Man’ shtick going, and that’s great. But I am Steve Rogers. Captain America is just who I pretend to –’ Everyone in the room – except Nat, maybe – just seemed to be waiting for him to finish without really understanding, and he made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

The room was still quiet, and then Tony said, ‘Look, Cap, we all know your name.’

‘You know what? Nevermind,’ Steve said, picking up his shield and sliding it onto his back as he headed for the door. ‘Never-fucking-mind.’

 

Another press conference. Steve had gotten good at these by now – like it was a game. Big wide smile, deflect anything too political (can’t have Captain America having an actual _opinion_ , can we), answer questions about living in the future with polite puzzlement. Use the words ‘shucks’ or ‘dang’ or ‘golly’ at least twice throughout (his personal high score was coherently using ‘gosh’ seven times in one answer).

But today – today Steve wasn’t in the mood.

Question after question; some related to the recent Avengers activity, some not. Like usual, Tony got a lot; like usual, Clint got barely any, and looked pleased since it meant he could basically use the press conference as an extended nap. Steve was doing pretty well, really – usually he got a deluge. But then –

‘Captain America! What do you miss most about the 40s?’

Steve suppressed a groan and subtly tilted his head sideways, pressing his fingers to his temple and massaging a little. _It’s been two years since I woke up. Two. Fucking. Years. Give it a goddamn rest._

It was only when the room went silent that he realised he’d said it out loud. Tony had frozen beside him – although Tony always froze when Steve swore, like the man thought he was some kinda saint or something – Nat’s shoulders on his other side were shaking just a little, just enough to look suspiciously like suppressed laughter, and Maria Hill was standing at the back of the room, frantically slicing her hand across her throat. Unclear whether that was a threat or an instruction to stop talking.

Guess he should do damage control and apologise or something.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, and Maria looked a little appeased, though now she was gesturing for him to get off stage. And then he smiled real big and wide and sincere and said, ‘Guess I’m just real fuckin’ tired of everyone treating me like an idiot. To answer your question, ain’t a lot I really miss. Polio was pretty fuckin’ awful, and so was the food, and the racism and homophobia and hatred so many folks had for one another for dumb-as-shit differences was so goddamn stupid -’

Maria was suddenly on stage beside him, pulling his microphone away and grabbing his arm with a steel grip. Steve just leaned over to Nat’s mic with a shit-eating grin on his face and said, ‘Thank you so much for your time.’

 

‘Holy shit, man,’ Sam said, opening his front door to find Steve on the doorstep. ‘You knew that was live, right?’

‘No,’ Steve said truthfully, because he hadn’t. He hadn’t thought about the whole thing at all. He’d taken the first flight back out to DC, and he couldn’t stomach sitting in his fucking awful 40s apartment all alone, and Sam’s door was always open.

‘Dude. Get inside.’

 

He was trending on Twitter, apparently.

 

‘I’m just tired of being someone else, Sam.’ Steve screwed up his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face.

‘So who do you want to be?’ Sam passed him a mug of tea (Sam was always pushing herbal tea on him – said it’d lower his stress levels, or something, like there was anything on the planet that could do that) and sat down across from him at the table, cradling his own mug.

‘I don’t – I don’t know. Myself, I guess. I just – I woke up two years ago, and everyone wanted me to be Captain America, y’know? No one cared about Steve Rogers.’ He took a sip of the tea – _where was the_ caffeine _, Sam_ – and then set it carefully back down, turning the mug handle with one finger to line up with the woodgrain of the table. ‘And it was just easier to be him.’

‘Steve, you don’t have to be anything or anyone you don’t want to be. You know that, right?’ Sam regarded him for a second, and then waved a finger. ‘Look, no offence, but this feels like some real Catholic guilt bullshit.’

Steve laughed, then, and was almost surprised – some days it felt like he’d forgotten how. ‘Look, the Catholic guilt’s a whole different issue,’ he said truthfully, and smiled. ‘Give me a pep talk, Sam. Tell me I can do this.’

‘Dude, you can do whatever the hell you want to. From what you’ve told me, you’ve been fighting people since you were tiny – why the hell is it any different now?’

 

It wasn’t any different now. Because Steve had realised something: it's tempting to want to live in the past. It's familiar. It's comfortable.

But it's where fossils come from.

 

Steve bought a place in Brooklyn and moved out of the SHIELD (ex-SHIELD?) apartment the next day. It was a couple of blocks over from where he and Bucky had used to live (now a museum), and he vaguely remembered getting beaten up in the back alley beside it. And the alley behind it. And the street in front. (The 40s truly were the glory days.)

He left behind everything 40s themed, didn’t tell anyone he was moving apart from Sam and Nat – they were the only important ones, anyway.

(He did worry that Bucky wouldn’t know where he lived, now, wouldn’t know where to come home to – but then again, Bucky was a smart guy. He’d figure it out.)

Nice new apartment. Original brick walls that’d contrast nicely with contemporary art. Neutral but modern wooden furniture from IKEA that Steve was going to have to spend hours assembling and disassembling and reassembling. A bed so comfortable that he felt like he’d sink right through and drown in down feathers.

It couldn’t be more different from the SHIELD one. He couldn’t be happier.

On the first night Steve moved in, flatpack furniture surrounding him still in boxes, he sat cross-legged in the middle of the living room floor and stared out the window at the fire escape and remembered another man smoking on a fire escape just like it, 70-something years ago.

Once, a memory like that might have made Steve sad – driven him even further into Captain America. Now, though, with a thick file in his hand written in Russian and English and a picture of Bucky on the front, it only made him determined.

For the first time, Steve finally worked up the courage to open the folder.

 

‘Steve,’ Sam said the next morning, opening the apartment door with takeaway coffee in hand, ‘what the actual _fuck_.’

‘Hmm?’ Steve glanced back over his shoulder, sharpie in mouth, balanced precariously on a stool near the ceiling. He hopped down, pulling the pen out of his mouth and stowing it behind his ear. ‘Hey, Sam.’

‘Gonna say it again – what the fuck, dude.’ Sam gestured at the wall of crazy with his free hand.

Steve still hadn’t unpacked any of his flatpack furniture, but he had covered one wall in blank paper and maps and proceeded to completely cover it all in notes.

Okay, he’d admit it – stepping back to look at it, the whole thing did look a little crazy.

‘Did you even sleep last night?’

‘I slept for 70 years, pal,’ Steve said cheerfully, swiping one of the coffee cups from Sam and taking a sip, and then making a face. ‘What, are you kidding me? _Decaf_?’ He headed into the kitchen as Sam moved to look at the ~~obsession~~ information wall, digging through the boxes of food still packed up from the move.

‘So what, this all about your boy Barnes?’ Sam tapped the picture of Bucky stuck up in the centre of the wall, and Steve’s ears flushed hot pink.

‘He’s not my _boy_ ,’ he muttered, tipping obscene amounts of sugar into his coffee. ‘I’m just – working on leads. Trying to work out where he might be, or where Hydra might be hiding out.’

‘Steve,’ Sam said sagely, ‘He’s definitely your boy,’ and then nodded to the map. ‘Hydra bases?’

Steve chugged down half the coffee, and then nodded. ‘Past locations where they held him. I figure if nothing else it’s a good place to start.’

‘Solid plan.’ Sam turned and looked at him with a quirked smile. ‘When do we start?’

 

‘Where’s Bucky Barnes?’ Steve had the Hydra agent pressed up against a wall, arm twisted behind the guy’s back, and he was so angry he was seeing red.

‘Who the hell is Bucky?’ The Hydra agent managed to get out, against better judgement.

‘You know, I’m getting real fuckin’ tired of people saying that,’ Steve said conversationally, pushing the agent up the wall further. The agent scrabbled frantically with his feet, just managing to balance on his tiptoes.

‘Oh, you mean the Winter Soldier?’

‘That’s a better answer.’ Steve just barely lowered the agent a little, letting him at least catch his breath to talk. ‘What do you know?’

‘Look, he went haywire after we – after we sent him after you. No one in Hydra’s seen him since the helicarriers crashed – we thought he was dead.’

Steve let go, the agent sliding down the wall and crumpling to the floor with a groan. ‘Aren’t you meant to be the nice Avenger?’ he said, clutching at his shoulder. ‘You’re Captain America.’

The shoulder looked like it was dislocated. Steve should probably feel bad. ‘Buddy, right now I’m just Steve Rogers,’ Steve said. ‘And you took my best friend away.’ He looked away, half-turning to Sam. ‘C’mon, let’s go.’

‘You’d really do anything for Bucky, huh?’ Sam said, and Steve turned fully – looked at what remained of the Hydra base. The debris. The blood on his knuckles. The cool determination in the pit of his stomach.

‘Whatever it takes.’ His voice was cool as steel, and twice as hard, and it probably should scare him. But he’d always known the lengths he’d go to for Bucky Barnes.

 

_The world around Steve reeks of gasoline, of a fuel can shaken empty over everyone and everything. In his hands, he holds a burning torch, and as he moves between buildings and streets he has to be careful not to let it touch._

_Then up ahead, he sees someone. Bucky. Steve calls his name desperately, and Bucky turns and opens his arms wide and holds out both his hands._

_The only way to take both of Bucky’s hand is if his own hands are free. Without even thinking, Steve drops the flame –_

 

Steve woke with a gasp, flames dancing in his vision for a moment until his eyes adjusted to the darkness of his bedroom. He let out a shaky breath, sitting up and pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes until colour swirled in the blackness of the back of his eyelids.

Maybe this search was unhealthy.

Hell, maybe he was unhealthy. He knew that bit was true, at least. Oh, sure, the serum had taken care of things physically – he wasn’t even capable of catching so much as a sniffle anymore. But mentally…

There were the nightmares. And the panic attacks, which was a name Sam had given him for them once Steve had worked up the nerve to explain them to him.

(‘Steve, those are a totally normal reaction given your past and what you’re still going through.’)

(The future had a much better understanding of mental health by _far_.)

And then – there was the other thing. The thing that he thought the serum should have fixed, and so clearly it wasn’t an entirely perfect formula after all since it didn’t.

The thing he couldn’t even admit to himself, the thing he couldn’t even _think_ the name of. The thing that stared him in the face every morning in the mirror – the thing that he’d googled and even though it was fine now, even though the world had changed, he still couldn’t think of as normal in himself. He’d always been wrong, abomination, abnormal.

The nightmares just proved it.

Maybe he _was_ obsessing unhealthily over this search. But so what. So fucking what. It wasn’t like he had anything better going on.

 

Base after base after base – nothing useful. Safe houses and bunkers and high-tech facilities – they all had one thing in common. No Bucky Barnes.

Steve snapped a sharpie in half as he aggressively crossed another location off the map.

 

The next location they went to was empty. Old-empty, too – the place looked like it had been abandoned for years. Another bunker, but it felt different. Some of the rooms they passed through had desks, folders. Under all the dust and dirt, this place could be a goldmine.

‘Wow, with digs like this, why _wouldn’t_ you want to work for Hydra?’ Sam said, and Steve cracked a smile.

‘Let’s split up, take a look around. One of the rooms might have something on him. Sing out if you find anything.’

Eddies of dust spun up into the air as Steve ran his fingers across a table. It’d almost be beautiful, if it wasn’t tainted by what this place was. He rubbed his fingers together – the dust was thick. Forget years, it had been decades since anyone had last been here.

The file had been scarce on info about the individual locations – just a title reading ‘ASSET SITES’ and a bullet point list of places and coordinates. But if Steve had to take a guess – this place looked like one of the first Hydra locations the Winter Soldier was based out of. Maybe even the first.

The thought of Bucky being broken in this building, of them taking his mind and mincing it and twisting him until he forgot who he was – until he forgot who Steve was – made his skin crawl and his stomach twist.

Steve came to a junction in the corridor – left or right. He chose right, arbitrarily, and followed it to a room with a metal-shuttered window and a table covered in cardboard boxes and folders. The boxes looked interesting, so he shuffled them around some until – until one of the boxes rattled when he moved it.

It was labelled **Зимний Солдат** , and Steve had seen that enough times by now to recognise the words **Winter Soldier**.

He swallowed in the dry, dead air, taking off the lid of the box.

It was his goddamn tags. Goddamn – Steve choked back a sob, screwing up his eyes until he was sure he could see straight when he opened them again.

It was Bucky’s dog tags. The tags that went off a cliff with him, the tags that history had lost. _James B Barnes, 32557038_. Steve let out a shaky breath, lifting them out of the box almost reverently. There was no one watching him, so he pressed them to his lips for a long moment before hanging them around his neck and tucking them beneath his uniform shirt.

There was nothing else useful inside the box, and so Steve turned his attention to the rest of the room. Other boxes, irrelevant, and folders – and that shuttered window. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his gut about that window.

There was a lever by the shutters. He pulled it.

The shutters clanged open, revealing a room beyond with nothing in it but a sight Steve was too familiar with. He’d seen the chair in the Hydra safehouse in Washington DC – but this version looked rougher. Less refined.

The original.

The door into the next room was right next door outside, and Steve set his shield down just inside it. Then he pulled his helmet off, placing it down next to it.

Then he sat down in the chair, tipping his head back into the headrest.

He’d heard the testimony from Hydra members, of course. And seen the photos. But somehow – this was so much more real. His fingers found the hand-shaped grooves worn into the leather armrests – fitting his fingers to them carefully, he could imagine he was touching Bucky. He reached up, pulling the two hinged sections over his head and face, and stared into the darkness.

He imagined a mouthguard shoved roughly between his teeth.

He imagined the inside of the machine sparking, lighting up electric blue.

He imagined how it felt to have your brain turned inside out until the person you were before was completely unmade and there was nothing left but the Winter Soldier.

 

Steve didn’t know how long he sat there in the chair, pressing his fingers into the imprints Bucky had left behind. It was all he had left of him, now – the ghost of Bucky Barnes haunting him.

‘Steve?’ Sam’s voice made him start, and he pulled the metal from his face.

‘Hey – uh – sorry,’ he said, voice rough as he turned away and wiped away tears. ‘Did you find anything?’

Sam didn’t say anything about the chair or the tears, and so that Steve was grateful. Instead, he just said, ‘Not a damn thing. You?’

Steve thought about the dog tags, and about Bucky Barnes sitting in this chair and screaming 70 years ago. About Bucky losing himself in this room.

‘Nothing helpful.’

‘Steve.’ Steve made himself look up and meet Sam’s eye. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Not really.’

 

_The light streaming in through the thin, patchy curtains is golden and kind – making everything in the tiny apartment look better than it is. Steve knows, abstractly, that this is a memory. His memories are always tinted more golden than reality, like someone splashed sepia across them._

_But the charcoal stick in his hand feels real enough for the moment, and his bony back pressed against the armrest of their tatty couch grounds him enough to almost believe it._

_At the other end of the couch, Bucky has his head turned and is just watching Steve draw. Steve has his feet in Bucky’s lap, and Bucky’s rubbing at one delicate ankle – thumb just gently skimming over the bone that sticks out under the skin a little too far to be healthy._

_Steve carefully smudges a dark line of charcoal into a shadow under a jawline with his thumb, glancing back up at Bucky for reference for a moment. Not like he needs to, though – he’s got every plane of Bucky’s face memorised. Steve could draw Bucky Barnes blind._

_Wordlessly, he turns the drawing around to show Bucky, and Bucky grins that blinding smile of his at the sight of it._

_Steve knows how the rest of this memory goes. Bucky makes a witty comment about the next Bellows living under the same roof as him, and Steve swats him with the drawing pad, and then they both laugh and the afternoon stretches out, golden and warm and eternal._

_Steve knows, abstractly, that this is a memory. But he could live here forever._

 

When Steve woke, he found that he’d been crying in his sleep. His eyes felt hot and red, and his throat was thick and sore, and all he wanted was to fall back asleep, go back to Bucky and their tiny, shitty, beautiful apartment.

Steve rolled over, pressed his face into the pillow, and pretended that he wasn’t still crying now that he was awake.

 

The next place Steve and Sam went to had Bucky Barnes.

It just so happened that the next place they went to was Steve’s apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you enjoyed!
> 
> Chapter titles are coming from famous literary quotes - here, the fic title's from Oscar Wilde, and chapter title's from the poem 'Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep' by Mary Elizabeth Frye (it's a banger of a poem, you should check it out).


	2. A Little Sincerity Is a Dangerous Thing, and a Great Deal of It Is Absolutely Fatal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's translations at the end for the Russian, but it's not that important to actually know what it is tbh.

It was three days after finding the dog tags. Steve and Sam had gone out for coffee in the morning, and when they came back, Steve just had an uneasy feeling in his gut. The door was still locked, the apartment looked completely undisturbed from the outside – and yet. And yet.

That feeling in his gut.

Steve glanced back over his shoulder at Sam, and then nodded at the apartment door. ‘There’s someone inside,’ he mouthed, and Sam nodded, squaring up a little.

Steve stepped to the side of the door, so he wasn’t directly framed in the doorway, and turned the key in the lock. A soft click as it unlocked.

No reaction from inside.

In one swift movement, he pulled the door open and burst in, fists raised. And the person inside –

The person inside was Bucky Barnes, in the flesh, looking dirty and thin and a bit the-worse-for-wear but oh-so-very alive.

‘Oh my god,’ Steve said, hands dropping to his sides.

Steve looked at Bucky. Bucky looked at Steve.

Sam looked at both of them.

And then Sam said, ‘Oh. You guys were _gay_.’

‘What – no –’ Steve said, ‘I’m not – we weren’t –’ And then he stopped, because Bucky was still just looking at him and he thought he might cry. _Bucky_. ‘Sam, I’m about to ask a huge favour.’

‘I’m not leaving,’ Sam said immediately. ‘Last time we saw this guy, he was trying to kill you –’

‘Last time I saw him, he was stopping me from drowning in the Potomac River,’ Steve said. ‘Please. Sam.’

‘If your dumb ass gets killed, I swear –’ Sam said, still eyeing Bucky. ‘Alright. But I’m only going because my mom’s having me over for dinner and I can’t stand her up, understand?’

Steve had met Sam’s mom. He understood.

‘Thank you. I’ll call if I need anything, okay?’ He was still looking at Bucky, who was looking right back.

As Steve walked Sam to the door, Sam turned and looked back at Steve, leaning in a little closer. ‘Don’t be an idiot, okay Rogers?’ he said, voice lowered. ‘I know he’s your – whatever you two had back in the 40s – but he’s also the Winter Soldier.’

‘Me? Be an idiot?’ Steve said. ‘When have I ever.’

He waved Sam off, closing the apartment door and locking it. When he turned back to face the living room, Bucky was gone.

 

No – not gone. Steve took a couple of deep breaths to calm his racing heart. Bucky had just moved to look at the information wall, scrutinising the old picture of himself. Bucky looked – the thing was Steve always thought he looked good, even when he didn’t. But he looked like he’d at least been surviving. Steve couldn’t complain about that.

He had a backpack on, and his hair was a little longer than it had been when he’d seen him last – down to his collarbones now, maybe. He was wearing civilian clothes too that he must have gotten from somewhere.

Steve swallowed, took a breath. ‘Buck?’

Bucky didn’t react for a moment, still looking at the wall, and Steve’s heart hammered in his chest, but then he turned. ‘Hi, Steve,’ he said, managing the faintest hint of a smile.

He hadn’t seen Bucky smile since before the train.

‘I love you, you idiot, I’m in love with you, please don’t ever leave me again, I might die without you here,’ Steve didn’t say.

Instead, he just smiled a little dopily and said, ‘Hi.’ He took a step towards Bucky, desperate to touch him, to make sure he wasn’t just going crazy – but Bucky flinched and took a matching step backwards. ‘Hey, I’m sorry,’ Steve said, raising his hands and stepping back straight away. ‘You make the rules here, okay?’

A flicker of something – almost like a frown – across Bucky’s face, and his head twitched slightly sideways. He winced, closing his eyes and shaking his head. ‘I make the rules,’ he said, like he was trying to make himself believe it. ‘I make the rules.’

‘Are you going to stay?’ Steve asked. ‘I have a spare bedroom you’re welcome to. You can shower, and eat, and stay as long as you need.’ He hesitated, and then added, ‘Or not stay at all, if you don’t want to.’ Right now, all he wanted was Bucky to say that he was here to stay, that he was never leaving Steve again for as long as they lived. But he knew he couldn’t push him and besides, what Steve _wanted_ wasn’t really what mattered right now.

‘I - want – to stay.’ Bucky sounded like he had trouble with the word _want_ , like it was a foreign concept. Like he’d only just learnt about it and god, he probably had.

 

Steve ordered Chinese takeout, and lots of it. Bucky used chopsticks like he was born to it, and it was an odd sight – Steve knew that he’d struggled with them enough when he’d first woken up in the future. He wondered what else Hydra had put inside his brain, languages and facts and abilities that didn’t belong to Bucky Barnes but did all at the same time.

Bucky ate like this was his first solid meal in weeks. Hell, it probably was, and that just made Steve hurt.

It was quiet for a while, and Steve felt like an absolute sap because he spent most of the time just watching Bucky across the table. Finally, Bucky looked up and over at him and said, ‘What, Rogers, I got somethin’ on my face?’

He wasn’t making eye contact, but Steve got the impression that was less a choice and more a holdover of Hydra’s brainwashing. His voice was still too unsteady and soft, but God, other than that he sounded just like he used to.

 _Bucky Bucky Bucky_ went Steve’s brain, unhelpfully.

‘No, I just -’ Steve leant an elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand. ‘It’s good to see you. I missed you. A lot.’ _I’ve missed you so fuckin’ much, Buck, it’s been hell here without you around and now you’re back and it feels like back when I first got the serum and started seeing real colours –_

‘Christ, you’re such a sap, Steve,’ Bucky said, eyes nervously searching Steve’s face for a moment before dropping back down, voice soft and fond and totally at odds with his body language. Then he gestured at Steve’s elbow on the table with his chopsticks. ‘Your ma woulda given you such a talking-to for that elbow.’

Steve looked down at his elbow – probably true, his ma had always been a stickler for manners – and then looked back up, eyes wide. ‘You remember my ma?’ He asked.

‘What, you think I’m gonna forget the ma of my best friend? Sarah Rogers,’ Bucky said, and then his face softened a little. ‘I got bit and pieces of her, at least.’

‘What else do you remember?’

‘I got – fragments. But fragments of most things, I think.’ Bucky waved his hands around, and Steve eyed the metal arm. ‘We used to be best friends – still are?’ The last bit was phrased as a question and he looked so nervous when he said it, eyes everywhere but Steve, that Steve just had to smile fondly.

‘Buck, you’re always gonna be my best friend. No matter what century it is.’

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched upwards, like he was surprised by that. Like there was ever any doubt. ‘You used to be small, but then you got big ‘cause you’re dumb and you let some scientist pump you full of chemicals and all that fightin’ built up inside you had to go somewhere.’

‘Dr Erskine,’ Steve said, because he worried saying anything longer might slow Bucky down.

‘Yeah, him. And then I got tortured by Hydra and you saved me, and we punched some Nazis, and then I fell off a train and kinda died.’

Steve couldn’t help it. He let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, one hand pressed over his mouth. ‘Oh my god,’ he said, ‘oh my god. I got you back.’

‘Shit, Steve, I didn’t mean to make you cry –’ Bucky moved like he was going to grab Steve across the table, pull him into a hug, but then stopped, drew back into himself.

‘No, no, it’s fine, it’s fine -’ Without thinking, Steve reached across the table to grab Bucky’s hand. Less than a heartbeat later, he was on his back on the table, Bucky’s metal hand on his throat.

Bucky immediately looked horrified, backing away from Steve, eyes down. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t hurt me –’

‘Bucky. Buck. I’m not gonna – I would never hurt you,’ Steve said, sitting upright slowly and rubbing at his neck a little. ‘Christ Buck, I should be apologising. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.’

Bucky sank down against the wall, pulling his knees up and tipping his head back. ‘It’s all just so – scrambled up in here.’ He pushed both hands back through his hair, sounding so frustrated. ‘I got the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes and bits of Hydra all mixed up and I can’t tell who’s in control sometimes.’

Steve sat down cross-legged on the floor a couple of meters away. ‘The guy I’m talkin’ to right now sounds a hell of a lot like my best friend Bucky,’ he said. ‘And I’d like to think I’m a bit of an expert on the subject.’

Bucky didn’t say anything, but Steve thought he looked a little less frustrated – a little softer. Then he said, ‘So when did you start blaspheming anyways?’

‘What?’

‘You heard me. Being impious. Taking the Lord’s name in vain. You’re a Catholic, Steve, didn’t they used to stone people for that?’

Steve snorted. ‘Sure, back in the 16th century.’ Then he got a little more serious, and said, ‘Honestly, Buck, I stopped believing in God a while back. It was a while after you, um, fell.’

(Steve stopped believing in God the day Bucky Barnes fell from the train. He knelt by his bedroll that night and clasped his hands together until his knuckles turned white and rocked back and forth until his feet went numb and whispered the words over and over and over and all he felt for his prayers, all he felt for all that was an ugly, rising panic that God wasn’t listening.

Steve didn’t have a religion anymore, he thought. The closest he got these days was worshipping Bucky Barnes.)

‘Guess we both changed, huh,’ Bucky said.

 

He showed Bucky the spare bedroom and then the bathroom, telling him to take as long as he needed. Then Steve called Sam.

‘I’m not dead,’ he said, as soon as Sam picked up.

‘My mom’s going to be so pleased, I think she likes you more than me,’ Sam said. ‘You know I showed up here and she asked where you were before she said hello to me?’

‘Tell her I say hi.’

The other end of the phone rustled as Sam pulled it away from his mouth and talked quickly to his mom. ‘She says hi back, and that she loves the flowers you sent her. She’s got them all set up in a vase on the table and everything – I’m definitely feeling kinda sidelined here.’

‘You’re the hero in my heart, Sam.’

‘Speaking of hearts,’ Sam said, and Steve groaned. ‘Steve. You didn’t tell me you had something going with Barnes.’

‘That’s because I don’t.’

‘Nat was right – you’re a terrible liar.’

‘I’m not lying - there’s nothing going on between me and Bucky!’ Steve winced – he’d said that a little loud – and had to stop talking a moment to check he could still hear the shower running. Okay, water was still on. He was safe. ‘Look – I –’ he made a frustrated sound. ‘I’m not gay.’

‘Steve, this is the future. It’s okay to be gay.’

‘I _know_ , Sam. I’m not gay, though. Listen, back in the 40s – Peggy wasn’t just a cover, you know? I really cared about her, even if it wasn’t –’ he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to say it out loud for the first time – ‘as much as I cared about Bucky.’

‘Okay, you’re not gay,’ Sam said, and then: ‘it’s called bisexuality.’

‘Bite me, Sam. I can use Google, I know what it’s called.’ It was quiet for a moment, then Steve sighed and said, ‘Sorry, that was rude. Look, I just – you gotta understand how this is for me, right? I mean I grew up Irish-Catholic in the 20s and 30s, being queer back then was a death sentence. I guess it’s just – saying the word is scary.’

‘Steve, man, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think –’

‘No, no, it’s okay. I can’t just keep postponing coming out.’ Steve swallowed. ‘Okay. Here goes. I’m gonna say it. I’m – bisexual.’

‘Oh my god, no way,’ Sam deadpanned, and then said, ‘But for real, Steve. I’m proud of you. You got a lot bottled up and it’s good to let it out sometimes, you know? Even just a little bit.’

Steve could taste bile in the back of his throat, like just saying the word was going to make him throw up, but at the same time – a sense of relief. It was the first time he’d ever said it out loud, since most days he couldn’t even think the damn word. ‘Thanks, Sam. You’re a good friend, I hope you know that.’

‘Stop, you’re going to make me blush. Does Barnes know?’

‘Sam, you’re the only person on the planet who knows that Captain America’s a queer. No, he doesn’t – I mean obviously I never said anything back then, and I’m not just gonna drop it on him now, you know? He’s got enough to deal with, and I’m barely dealing with – who I am – anyway.’

‘Steve. Only reason I ask is because you know how you look at him? Like he’s the centre of your universe? He was definitely looking at you the same way.’

‘What? As if -’ Steve heard the water turn off through the wall. ‘Look, I gotta go, Buck’s about to get outta the shower and I have to get him some clean clothes. I’ll talk to you later, okay?’

‘Okay. Be careful.’

‘Always am.’

 

He picked out some sweatpants and a grey shirt – they were near enough in clothes size though Bucky was probably a little smaller than him and god, that was still such a novelty – walking towards the bathroom and taking steps loud enough that Bucky could hear him coming.

‘Hey, Buck, it’s me,’ he said. ‘I’m gonna leave some clean clothes for you outside the bathroom door, alright?’

Silence from the other side for a moment, then a soft, ‘Thanks, Steve.’ He set the clothes down, stepping back and clearly making his way back down the hallway, pulling his bedroom door shut deliberately enough to be heard from the bathroom.

Steve couldn’t help himself; he leaned against the door, just waiting. After a couple of minutes, the bathroom door creaked open and he heard soft footsteps make their way across the hall into the spare bedroom opposite. The spare bedroom door pulled shut with a click, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding in.

Steve flopped on his back on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Holy shit. Bucky had been dead, and then Bucky had been alive but brainwashed, and now Bucky was in his apartment, wearing his clothes, sleeping in the other bed. And Steve was still in love with him.

It was kinda pathetic, really. What chance did he have? Steve was still just a weird queer kid from Brooklyn, and Bucky was kind of a brainwashed assassin and just trying to piece his mind back together and oh, right, he was straight.

Steve should be grateful for this. He was grateful for this. Bucky was alive, and Steve was alive, and somehow they’d muddled through it all and found themselves back together again. No matter where they went, they always found one another.

That would have to be enough.

 

Steve woke early the next morning, morning light filtering through the curtains. For a moment he felt weird – lighter – but he couldn’t place it. And then he remembered. _Bucky._

The spare bedroom door opposite was still closed when he stepped out into the hall, and Steve left it that way – Bucky had looked like he needed a decent night’s sleep. Instead, Steve got dressed and went for a run. Ever since he’d actually been able to do it, exercise had always been the best way he’d found for him to clear his head – and he had a lot on his mind right now.

Cadman Plaza Park was only a few blocks away, and Steve ran laps round and round and round it until he almost started to feel out of breath. Then he slowed to a halt at the south end of the park, near the war memorial.

He came here, sometimes, to think. It felt like a split place – torn between the war and the rowdy modern kids who used the park to play. Steve liked that. After all, he was split too.

The inscription on the memorial read:

THIS MEMORIAL IS DEDICATED TO THE HEROIC MEN AND WOMEN OF THE BOROUGH OF BROOKLYN WHO FOUGHT FOR LIBERTY IN THE SECOND WORLD WAR 1941-1945 AND ESPECIALLY TO THOSE WHO SUFFERED AND DIED

MAY THEIR SACRIFICE INSPIRE FUTURE GENERATIONS AND LEAD TO UNIVERSAL PEACE

The words were flanked by statues of Victory and Family. Victory wore a laurel leaf crown; Family embraced her child beside her. It was funny – when Steve had come here before, he’d always just felt a sense of self-deprecating amusement at the sight of the statues. Victory? Family? He’d come back from the war, and he’d somehow gotten neither. But now – Steve sat down on the steps in front, watching the city wake up around him and thought that maybe he was finally getting both.

His name was on the war memorial. Inside, where you weren’t allowed to go anymore without an appointment because the place was slowly falling into ruin. Back when he’d first woken up, he’d found out about this place, made a few calls and because he was _Captain America_ , he’d been told he could spend as long as he wanted inside.

It was limestone inside too, he remembered. Limestone and granite. He had a section to himself, a little inscription of his face and some quick facts, but that wasn’t why he was there.

He’d found _BARNES, J. B._ sandwiched between _BARNES, A. F._ and _BARNET, E. J._ , half obscured by water stains. The name on the limestone was cold to the touch. Just as cold as dead Bucky Barnes.

But right now, all Steve could feel was warmth. The warmth of having just run. The warmth of the rising sun on his face. The warmth somewhere in his chest, knowing that Bucky Barnes was so warm and so alive and in his apartment right now.

Steve stood, stretched, and started running again. This time, he had a destination.

 

Steve made pancakes and stacked them up on a plate, setting the table for two. There was still silence from the spare room, and it was making him nervous. There was a twist in the pit of his stomach, and even though he was trying not to listen to it, he couldn’t help but worry that Bucky wasn’t in the spare room anymore.

 _Deep breaths, Rogers._ He could hear Sam’s voice in his head. _Manage the anxiety. You control it, it doesn’t control you._

Just deal with what’s stressing you out. Steve made his way down the hallway, again with the heavier footsteps, and stopped in front of the spare room door. _It was just Bucky on the other side. Just Bucky._ ‘Buck?’ He called through the door, knocking gently. ‘I made breakfast, if you want some.’

Utter silence from the other side, and Steve was _this_ close to breaking down the door in a panic if he had to – and then he heard soft movement from the other side. Like fabric on fabric, or maybe fabric on a wooden door. Bucky was on the other side. When Steve strained his ears, it sounded like maybe he was sliding down against the door to sit at the base.

Steve did the same, finger tightening around his knees as he pulled them up. He tipped his head back against the door gently, and imagined that Bucky was doing the same on the other side. Like a reflection.

(He’d always been Bucky’s reflection.)

‘You don’t have to come out. It’s okay. I get it,’ he said, softly. Like he was speaking to the empty air. ‘I’ll leave some food out in the hallway and stay outta your way, alright?’

Nothing but silence from the other side of the door, but Steve imagined he heard maybe a puff of breath, a rustle of cloth. Like someone nodding their head. ‘Alright,’ he said, and lingered just a moment longer before standing to get the pancakes.

 

Steve steered clear of the hallway the rest of the day, but about half an hour after he set out the pancakes and some more clothes he heard the spare room door open for a few seconds, and smiled to himself.

He set out lunch too, in between trying to keep things as normal as possible. He went grocery shopping, did some Avengers paperwork (who said being a superhero wasn’t boring?), cleaned the kitchen. Even read some of a book. The plate with lunch vanished into the spare room too, at some point.

He was feeling nostalgic, so for dinner he made cottage pie – his ma had made the best cottage pie from whatever they had lying around, and even though he had ten times the amount of food she had he still felt his was a bit lacking in comparison. Even so, he thought it was pretty alright – although the smell wafting through the apartment still hadn’t managed to tempt Bucky out.

‘Hey, Buck?’ He tapped gently on the door. ‘I brought you dinner. I’ll leave it out for you.’

The dinner sat untouched all evening, and when Steve went to bed it was still there.

 

  1. _A back alley._



_13-year-old Steve reels back from a punch from a bully ten feet tall, but he knows he can’t give in. Not now, not ever. He squares back up, and then there’s a hand on his shoulder and Bucky’s grinnin’ down at him like everything’s going to be alright, and for half a moment he really does think it will, and then the ten foot tall bully grows another ten feet and their face goes red, like a red skull, and Bucky tries to throw a punch but he’s getting beat real easy, beat into the dust, beat into nothing and no one –_

 

Steve jerked awake and upright, fingers flexing into fists to punch something that wasn’t there. He forced himself to untense his body, dragging a hand down his face and letting out a long, hard breath. ‘Goddamn it,’ he said softly. He’d been having nightmares for years now – this was nothing new – but all the same, they always managed to catch him out.

Steve forced himself to lay back down, approaching trying to get back to sleep with the same single-minded determination he approached everything. Of course, though, sleep wasn’t something you could force, and he stayed awake until the birds started singing outside and the sun crept in through the window.

 

At least when he got up, the dinner he’d left out last night had vanished.

 

Bucky actually made an appearance that day. Steve was midway through making some toast and thinking about knocking on the spare room door to offer some when he heard it open and then slam shut again. Bucky stalked past him and said, without looking at him, ‘I’m going out.’

Okay, so he was pissed about something. Steve felt his throat tighten a little as he considered what it might be. Was it him? Something he was doing – the food, the noise, just his presence?

Bucky was out for an hour and seven minutes (not that Steve was counting) and when he stepped through the front door again and slammed it behind him, he looked even more pissed off than before.

‘Did you fucking know? About the fucking cigarettes?’ He said, wild-eyed and looking everywhere but Steve.

‘About the – what?’ Steve set down his book and frowned.

‘I went to buy some – some fucking cigarettes,’ Bucky said, and even though his voice sounded calmer he most definitely was not. ‘I wanted to get some Luckies like I think I used to smoke, and I went into a shop to get some and did you know cigarettes cause cancer and asthma?’ He sounded like he was getting hysterical by the end.

‘Buck –’

‘Steve, you had fuckin’ asthma, and I was always smokin’ round you, and I could have killed you.’

‘Buck, it’s not your fault – we didn’t know that kinda thing back then –’

‘Of course it’s my fault, Steve!’ Bucky snapped, and he looked mad again, but at least it was Bucky-anger. ‘It’s all my fucking – fault –’ He made a sound that was almost a scream but choked-off, and stalked back to the spare room.

Despite Steve’s best efforts through the spare bedroom door, Bucky refused to come back out – refused to talk. Refused to even take the food Steve left out for him.

He came out for dinner, though, at least, and they had the leftover cottage pie. They sat in silence, Bucky sullenly not talking, but Steve was just grateful he was there.

 

That night, Steve didn’t exactly have nightmares – he just dreamt all night about Bucky Barnes on a fire escape, blowing smoke rings that turned into monsters clawing for both of them. When he woke in the morning, he didn’t feel any more rested.

 

That morning was the same as that first one. Steve making noise in the kitchen, clearly cooking breakfast, but not a peep from the spare room. Bucky clearly needed his space, and Steve was fine with that, but he also needed to eat.

Just like that first morning, Steve made his way down the hallways, again with the heavy footsteps but this time with a secret weapon – a hot cup of coffee. He stopped in front of the spare room door, taking a breath and then knocking gently. ‘Bucky? It’s me,’ he said. ‘I have coffee. Do you want breakfast?’

Silence. Not even the minimal rustle of clothing like last time – actual, honest silence. It just made Steve nervous.

Steve made a noise at the back of this throat somewhere between frustration and resignation to his fate, and then said, ‘I’m coming in, okay?’

He gently pushed the door open. It was still dark inside, curtains drawn tight and light off. But even so, Steve could see the place was _destroyed_. His nice IKEA bedside table was smashed to pieces, and there was a hole in the wall, and the bed was listing on an angle. ‘Buck?’ Steve said, alarmed, and then he was shoved roughly up against a wall.

A low voice said, ‘Каково местоположение Актива?’

Steve swallowed, slowly, although it was a little hard with a knife pressed up against his throat. He’d dropped the mug of hot coffee, and it had gotten all over the two of them – but the other man hadn’t even seemed to notice. He very very slowly raised his hands above his head, pressing them back against the wall behind him to show that he was unarmed and meant no harm.

‘I don’t speak Russian,’ he said, slowly.

‘Каковы параметры миссии Актива?’ Bucky said, sounding more frantic. The knife was starting to draw blood – Steve could feel a drop slide down his throat.

Steve summoned up all the Russian he didn’t speak and said, ‘Я Steve Rogers. Я друг.’

‘Steve…’ Bucky’s eyes lost their hard edge and went all dreamy for a moment. His head twitched to the side, and then his eyes snapped back into focus, Bucky immediately looking horrified. ‘Holy shit. Steve. Stevie.’ He backed away, dropping the knife as he went. ‘I’m so sorry, you know I’d never hurt you, Christ –’

‘Buck, it’s fine, really, it wasn’t you –’

‘Steve, you’re _bleeding_.’ Bucky looked frantic, eyes wide. He kept twitching like he wanted to reach out to Steve, but then seemed to pull back into himself.

Steve raised his fingers to his throat, and they came away wet. Not too wet though – it was only a scratch. ‘Jesus,’ he said, ‘I do worse injuries to myself _shaving_.’ He gestured at the door. ‘You want breakfast?’

 

By the time Steve had wiped off the blood, the cut had started healing and now it was nothing more than a faint thin red line – it’d be gone in an hour. Bucky still kept looking at it and wincing, though, cutlery shaking in his hands as he ate French toast.

‘So the messed up room’s what you’ve been working yourself up about the last few days, huh?’ Steve said finally, a slight smile on his face.

 ‘I’m sorry, it wasn’t me,’ Bucky said, and Steve was sure by now that every other word outta his mouth was an apology. ‘It was the Soldier. He gets out sometimes, and everything’s confusing for him without Hydra.’ He looked down at his plate, seeming to be working himself up to something. ‘If you don’t want me to stay anymore ‘cause you’re mad, I get it. I can find somewhere else.’

Steve felt a thrill of panic in the pit of his stomach at those words. ‘What? I’m not mad,’ he said. ‘Don’t be stupid. I’m the only person on the planet who can deal with your bullshit, Barnes.’ Then he smiled softly, and said, ‘I’ll never want you to leave, Buck. Only time you gotta is if you want to.’

‘You’re still such a sap,’ Bucky said into his breakfast, but he looked a little happier.

 

Steve spent the rest of the day tidying up the spare room, while Bucky sat in the corner and looked guilty. The bedside table was a lost cause, and the coffee stain in the carpet took him an hour straight of blotting with warm vinegar to get out. The bed would need a new leg, too, by the looks of it – and the sheets were ripped, which he hadn’t noticed the first time round. He just piled everything up in bags without comment, carting it down to the trash in the basement.

Luckily, the hole in the wall had an easy solution – Steve shamefacedly would have to admit that he was no stranger to holes being punched in apartment walls. He had everything he needed to fix that already.

‘Why are you doing all this for me?’ Bucky said, finally, as Steve started sanding back the spackle to meet flush with the wall.

‘You’re my best friend, Buck. Why wouldn’t I?’

‘Because I’m fucked-up in the head, and I used to be a Hydra agent, and I tried to kill you. Lots of times.’ Bucky’s voice got a distant edge and he said, ‘I’m not worth this.’

Steve dropped the sandpaper, spinning so quickly he nearly got whiplash. ‘James Buchanan, don’t you ever say that again.’ He raised his hands and then said, ‘I’m going to come closer, okay?’

‘Yeah, okay,’ Bucky said, and even though he tensed a little it also looked like it was all he wanted.

Steve walked over, sitting down on the floor facing Bucky – close enough to reach out and touch, but not so close that Bucky felt caged in. ‘Is it alright if I touch you?’ he said, because this was the longest he’d ever gone (70 years and counting) without casual touches from Bucky and he’d forgotten how much he missed it until it was dangled, tantalisingly, just out of his reach.

Bucky took a deep breath. ‘That would be – okay.’

Back in the 40s, they’d never been separated. An arm around Steve’s shoulders (or, when he was bigger, an arm around Bucky’s), or sitting close enough that their legs or feet were touching, or sleeping in the same bed (which people weren’t weird about back then the way they were now). But right now, there might as well have been an ocean between the two of them.

‘Alright.’ Telegraphing his every movement, Steve slowly leaned closer and rested a hand gently on Bucky’s knee. Even though Bucky had touched him twice since he’d arrived, both times had been to attack and Steve wasn’t going to count them. But this – Bucky was warm through his sweatpants, and so alive, and Steve could hardly cope. ‘Bucky Barnes. You were my best friend. I thought you were dead, and I mourned you, and then I crashed a fuckin’ plane into the ice over it. And then I woke up and you were still dead, and then you were alive, and now I finally have you back and you’re still my best friend and you’re still the best guy I know. So yeah. Yeah, you’re fucking worth it.’

‘Steve,’ Bucky said, sounding broken, and then lunged forward and hugged him tight. Steve hugged him right back, one hand balled up in his shirt, the other rubbing soothing circles as Bucky sobbed 70 years of pent-up tears into his shoulder.

 

For the rest of the day, Bucky was never more than arm’s reach away from Steve. As Steve methodically took down the information wall in the living room, he lazed on the couch and stretched out a foot to run up and down Steve’s leg. When Steve settled on the couch in the late afternoon to read a book, he seemed content to lay across Steve, head in his lap, and just exist in the same space. And when Steve started cooking the two of them dinner, he perched himself on the kitchen counter and intercepted spoonfuls to taste-test – quality control, he’d always said when he did it in the 40s – in between running his hands across Steve’s shoulders every time he went past.

Touch-starved, Sam would say. Like how Steve had been when he first woke up and didn’t have anyone. But Bucky had him, and Steve was going to make damn sure Bucky could have all the human contact he wanted.

At the dinner table, Steve forced his foot underneath one of Bucky’s and watched the smile on his face grow a little.

‘This is good, Steve,’ he said, taking another huge mouthful of the pasta.

‘Don’t sound so shocked.’

‘Pal, I had to eat your cooking every damn day in the 40s. I got every right to sound shocked that you’re good at it now.’

They looked at each other across the table and a moment passed – and then they both started laughing. It was a welcome sound – Bucky’s laugh had always been so easy to listen to.

‘I was doing my best with bad ingredients!’ Steve tried to defend himself, but he knew it was a futile effort. He’d been _bad_. It was tough to learn to cook when you didn’t have much of a sense of smell and you were sick nearly every other day. ‘I didn’t see you cooking, anyways.’

‘Me, cook?’ Bucky swooned exaggeratedly. ‘Stevie, could you _imagine_?’ Bucky had always been the better cook, but since he was usually the one who found work, Steve got all the household chores – like making dinner.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while after that, the only communication they needed their feet touching under the table. As Steve was clearing away the plates, he said, ‘Hey, you can’t sleep in the spare room tonight. It stinks of vinegar and besides, the bed’s all busted up.’ He swallowed, and then said, ‘Do you want to sleep in mine tonight?’

They’d shared a bed in the 40s. They’d had to, really – heating was expensive, and body warmth was free. Plus they couldn’t have afforded a second bed even if they wanted one. And then at war, it was the same deal – when you’re cold, you don’t care about propriety.

So this wasn’t anything weird. But at the same time – Steve had, for the first time, admitted to someone that his feelings for Bucky might be more than platonic and even though that fact was nothing new to him, admitting it out loud made him put a new spin on the situation.

But Bucky wouldn’t know that.

‘Are you sure? I mean, you saw what the Soldier did – what if I can’t keep him under control? I don’t want to hurt you, Steve.’ Bucky waved a hand at the lounge. ‘I can just take the couch.’

‘You could never hurt me. I’d rather take my chances with the Soldier than make you sleep out here.’ When Bucky still hesitated, Steve rolled his eyes and held out his hand. ‘Come to bed, Buck.’

 ‘You’re a punk,’ Bucky said, but stood and took his hand.

‘And you’re a jerk.’

 

Later, they were in bed. Bucky was on the left side of the bed, like he always used to be, and Steve was sitting up with the bedside lamp on, reading. He almost thought Bucky had dozed off before a sleepy voice said, ‘All you need are reading glasses and you’d look just like someone’s pops.’

‘I’m everyone’s pops,’ Steve deadpanned, and Bucky snorted sleepily.

On the bedside table, Steve’s phone buzzed.

 

 **Sam**  
               hows your murderous not-boyfriend?

 **Steve**  
               Not murderous.  
               Everything’s good, Sam. Everything’s really good.

 

Steve smiled, closed his book, turned off the bedside lamp, and curled up under the covers with Bucky.

 

When he woke the next morning, Bucky was sprawled across his chest. He was still fast asleep, but his face was towards Steve and he looked peaceful in the soft morning light. Steve wanted to run soft fingers through his hair, wanted to reverently smooth his thumb over the places on Bucky’s face where the worry lines were when he was awake, but that was a step too far this soon, he thought. Even for them.

Instead, he settled for resting a gentle hand on Bucky’s back, just feeling the soft rise and fall of his breaths. Letting himself revel in the quiet fact that after all these years, they were together again.

Steve tipped his head back onto the pillow and looked up at the ceiling and smiled, ever-so-slightly.

 

Bucky woke after a few minutes – Steve could tell from the way his body went from relaxed to slightly tense, slightly wound-up. Steve lifted his head up to look at Bucky, who twitched his head a couple of times, eyes screwed-up, and then opened his eyes and just regarded Steve.

‘Who am I talkin’ to?’ Steve said, softly.

‘Well I ain’t about to start spouting Russian, pal,’ Bucky said, and then smiled, tilting his head upright to rest his chin on Steve’s chest. ‘Don’t worry, it’s me.’

Steve could have stayed in that moment forever. Just him and Bucky Barnes, 70-odd years in the future, and the sun was warm on their faces and they were in bed together and things were good. Things were so good.

Of course, that was when his phone had to go nuts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never actually been to Brooklyn or Cadman Plaza Park, but the internet truly is a wonder.
> 
> (Russian:  
> Каково местоположение Актива? - What is the location of the Asset?  
> Каковы параметры миссии Актива? - What are the Asset’s mission parameters?  
> Я Steve Rogers. Я друг. - I am Steve Rogers. I am a friend.)
> 
> Chapter title's Oscar Wilde, again (because he's a queer icon).


	3. I Like a Man Who Grins When He Fights

‘You’re shitting me,’ Steve said, flicking through the message.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m so sorry, but I gotta go – I have a mission. Some guy in fucking _New Jersey_ just unleashed an army of robots from his basement and he’s trying to take over Trenton City.’ Steve hopped out of bed and hurried over to the closet, pulling out his uniform and tossing it on the bed.

Behind him, still in bed, Bucky just gaped at him. ‘You’re kidding me, right? Is this a normal thing?’

‘Future’s a lot weirder than what we’re used to,’ Steve said, yanking his uniform top on over his head.

‘I dunno, Steve, remember Red Skull’s weird face mask?’

Steve huffed a laugh. ‘Point taken. Alright, I’ll try wrap this up quick and I should be back this afternoon,’ he said, picking up his shield. ‘You’re going to be alright, right?’ Suddenly, the thought of leaving Bucky for an entire day when he’d only just gotten him back was terrifying. ‘There’s food in the kitchen, or you can order takeout, and you’re welcome to watch TV or something – I don’t have to go if you don’t want to, they can get by without me –’

‘Steve. Steve!’ Bucky said, and then laughed. ‘Quit being my ma – I swear I can get by without you for a few hours. Go save the world.’

‘Easy for you to say – you’re still in bed. And you don’t gotta go save fuckin’ _New Jersey_.’

‘I guess it makes sense that’s where a supervillain would be.’

 

‘Alright, folks, let’s keep things in as tight as we can,’ Steve said, later, on the Quinjet. ‘It’s the usual – contain the damage, protect the civilians.’

‘Not to butt in, Cap, but I’m going to butt in,’ Tony said over the comms, from outside where he was flying. ‘It looks like the robots are all controlled by a central hub. We knock that out, we take them all out.’

‘What’s the catch?’ Steve said (there was always a catch).

‘Pretty sure the guy’s wearing the hub. And there’s no way we’re going to get close to him easily.’

 

‘Why – won’t – you – die –’ Steve said, maturely, slamming a robot’s head into the ground repeatedly. Finally sparks flew, and it slumped. Then he dodged back just in time to avoid getting gutpunched by another robot. This one he slammed with his shield, and then managed to drive the shield deep enough into its chest that it shorted out.

‘Tony? How’re we going on the getting-to-the-bad-guy front?’

‘If this guy wasn’t a supervillain, I’d have hired him,’ Tony said, and then, ‘Well, he’s got a robot suit that isn’t as good as mine but is still pretty damn indestructible so you take a guess, Cap.’

‘You know, back in my day,’ Steve said, and everyone groaned over the comms line. He grinned, because he loved doing this to them, and continued, ‘Back in my day, the weirdest shit I had to deal with was a guy with a red skull for a face.’

‘Yeah, but back in your day people thought the height of technology was this amazing thing called the moving pictures,’ Nat cut in, bouncing past him and unloading 3 shots into a robot’s head.

Steve sighed. ‘That’s probably fair.’ He vaulted over a car and took off down the street, towards where Tony was still duking it out with the guy. ‘Hey Tony, where do you think the hub’s located on this guy?’

‘It looks like it’s on his chest. But I still can’t get a clean hit – he’s fast in this thing.’

No time to come up with a decent plan – but then Steve spotted a car right beside the two men fighting and remembered something.

_‘Hey Steve, do you reckon you could use the wall to get some height?’ Bucky had asked during the war, and Steve shrugged and said,_

_‘Maybe,’ and that had led to him running and springing off of walls for hours until he could bounce off the wall and come down hard on anyone between him and the ground._

‘Tony, when I say move you’re gonna want to move,’ Steve said, eyeballing distances and then speeding up.

‘What?’ Tony said, but then, ‘Fine.’

‘Okay, three – two – one –’ Steve bounced sideways, pushed off the top of the car, and said, ‘Now!’

Tony flew sideways, and Steve landed his shield on the robot suit’s chest with enough force to near split it in two.

All around them, robots fritzed for a moment and then fell motionless.

‘I nearly had him, you know,’ Tony said – he always had to get the last word in – and Steve just smiled.

‘I know.’ He looked up the nearest news helicopter, hovering above them, and flicked off a lazy salute with a half-grin. No one else would know what it meant. And he couldn’t even be sure he was watching. But if Bucky was – well, he’d probably appreciate it.

 

‘You’ve been in a weird mood all mission,’ Tony said, as they hopped out of the Quinjet back at Stark Tower.

‘Have I?’ Steve said, diplomatically.

‘I can’t tell if you’re actually having fun for once, or if we’re inconveniencing you by calling you out. Is this – you in a good mood? I mean someone break out the champagne, Steve Rogers actually _smiled_ on a mission.’

‘I can’t just be having a good day?’ Steve tucked his helmet under his arm and then said, ‘Sorry, I gotta get going.’

‘You’re headed back to the super soldier fortress of solitude already? Are you too good for us and our post-mission drinks now?’

‘Just in a hurry. You called me in the middle of something.’

‘What, you got a hot date waiting?’

Steve grinned. ‘Something like that,’ he said, just to screw with him, and then headed for the elevator.

‘I’ll walk you down,’ Nat said, sliding in between the doors just before they slid closed.

It was quiet for a few floors and then Nat said, ‘I hate to say it, but Tony’s right. You have been weird.’ Steve just shrugged, staring resolutely at the elevator doors, and she rolled her eyes. ‘Cut the bullshit, Rogers. It’s not a bad thing. It’s like you loosened up a little, or something.’

‘I don’t think I’m normally uptight,’ Steve deadpanned.

‘Are you kidding me? Steve, no offence, but you’re normally wound-up like a corkscrew. You know, the last time I even saw you act like a normal person in the field was when you found out – oh my god.’ Nat turned to stare up at him, eyes wide. ‘Oh my god. You found him, didn’t you?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Steve said, as the elevator doors pinged open on the ground floor and he stepped out.

‘Steve Rogers, is Bucky Barnes in your apartment right now?’

‘Bye, Nat!’ He spun as he walked and waved at her, shit-eating grin firmly in place as the doors slid closed in her face.

 

               **Nat**  
               Are you really harbouring an international fugitive and master assassin  
               In your apartment  
               In _Brooklyn_

               **Nat  
**               Steve I know you’re an idiot but this is reaching new heights

 

It was definitely not afternoon by the time he got back to his apartment – the street lights had been on for long enough to start humming, and the streets were all but empty. He trudged up the stairs, finally starting to feel the effects of the fight – he definitely had bruised ribs, and he thought he might have pulled something in his shoulder. And a hundred other injuries too small to individually name that all added up to a feeling like a full body headache.

‘Hey, I’m back -’ Steve cut himself off as he stepped through the door. Something smelt _good_. ‘Are you cooking?’

‘Yeah, I figured I’d start on dinner.’ Bucky was in the kitchen at the stove, his back to Steve. He was wearing Steve’s clothes, and he had a tea towel over one shoulder, and he looked so good. ‘You don’t mind, right –’ And then he turned and saw Steve. ‘Christ, Steve, you look terrible.’

In a heartbeat he was at Steve’s side, helping him over and sitting him down on the couch. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ Steve said. ‘Mostly bruises, couple’a scrapes. Nothin’ worse than what I got when I was little. Plus I’m tired and hungry.’

Bucky stepped back and eyed him, and Steve did his best impression of a normal, uninjured person. It must have been a poor attempt, because Bucky just rolled his eyes and said, ‘Get your shirt off, Rogers.’ Steve hesitated, and so Bucky continued, ‘You’re doing the weird sideways listing thing you always do when your ribs are hurt. Get the shirt off, and I’ll get somethin’ cold.’

When Bucky came back, he had a pack of frozen peas wrapped up in a towel as well as what looked like half of Steve’s first aid cabinet. ‘Hold that on there,’ he said, handing Steve the peas and Steve obeyed, pressing the packet against his ribs and letting out a soft hiss at the cold.

Moving made the dog tags around his neck rattle, and Bucky finally spotted them. Shit. He’d meant to take them off – wearing Bucky’s dog tags around his neck wasn’t something he was sure he could explain away.

‘You still wear your tags? What, you don’t think the uniform would make it easy enough to work out who you are?’ Bucky teased, leaning in and picking up the tags, smoothing a thumb over them. ‘James Bucha – oh. _Oh_.’

‘I – found them at a Hydra facility not too long ago,’ Steve said, trying desperately to play it off. ‘You want ‘em back?’

Bucky took a breath, letting go so the dog tags settled back on Steve’s chest. ‘Nah, you can – you can look after ‘em for me,’ he said finally, voice soft. It was quiet for a moment as Bucky messed around with the first aid kit, and then he said, ‘70 years later and I’m still cleaning you up after fights.’

Steve smiled, holding still as Bucky dabbed at a nasty scrape on his cheek with disinfectant. ‘I can get by on my own, you know,’ he said, tone light, a half-mockery of the words he’d said all those years ago.

‘Yeah, but pal, you don’t gotta,’ Bucky said, and his voice was light but there was weight behind the words. Still just a couple of Brooklyn boys against the world. Bucky still wasn’t doing eye contact well, but his eyes were all over Steve’s face and wow, their faces were close now, Steve found himself fascinated with Bucky’s lips and he could easily just lean in and –

‘Oh, shit,’ Bucky said, springing back up as smoke started to filter out of the kitchen. ‘I forgot about dinner!’

 

Dinner was burnt but still tasted good. It brought back childhood memories of eating dinner with the Barnes family, and when pressed, Bucky admitted, ‘Okay, yeah, it’s one of my ma’s recipes. I remembered it today, didn’t want it to fade, y’know?’

Steve could feel his scrapes and injuries healing themselves, like an itch crawling across his skin. Skin knitting to skin. Blood vessels re-joining. Sometimes, his body scared him.

‘So what did you get up to today?’ he asked, lifting a foot up under the table to rest on the edge of Bucky’s chair, pressed against the other man’s thigh.

‘I watched some TV – found something called Netflix. Watched all these nature documentaries narrated by some guy called David Attenborough.’

Steve beamed. ‘I’ll have to set you up with your own profile so’s you can get your own recommendations.’

Bucky smiled, ate some more. ‘And I saw you on TV, too. Live news. You pulled that move with the car that we made up in the war. And I liked the salute.’

‘Figured I had to let you know it was still your move,’ Steve said, and Bucky smiled a little wider.

 

Steve nearly fell asleep in the shower (twice) but managed to make it out and into bed, dressed just in boxers. ‘If I die in my sleep, it’s the way I wanted to go,’ he said, muffled, into a pillow.

‘Guess you didn’t get any less dramatic while I was gone,’ Bucky said cheerfully, pulling the covers up over the two of them.

 

  1. _A train. A mission._



_Bucky Barnes is hanging off the side of the train now, and Steve’s mission boils down to this: save his best friend._

_But he looks down at his hands, and they are small, and his body, and it is small, and his arms, and they are weak, and he reaches for Bucky anyway, but Bucky is being dragged down into the blackness of the abyss below by a many-headed monster –_

 

Steve woke with a muffled scream, a shriek trapped in the back of his throat, sitting bolt upright. Shit shit shit he _hated_ that _fucking_ nightmare god _damnit_ –

‘Stevie?’ Bucky was awake beside him. No hint of sleep in his voice, but Steve guessed they were both pretty good at waking up quickly by now. ‘Hey, Stevie, just breathe, okay?’ He rubbed gentle circles into Steve’s back as he took shuddering breaths, and all Steve could think is that _he_ was meant to be the strong one, _he_ was meant to be holding it together, Bucky had a Soviet assassin living inside his head and yet Steve was the one that was crumbling, why was it that it always came down to Bucky looking after Steve –

Oh. Right. This was a panic attack.

What had Sam said? Deep breaths, match your breath to something or someone if you can.

Steve leaned back against Bucky, focusing on breathing – matching their breaths in time. God, he felt so _useless_ – give him a bad guy to punch, he could do that. But when the bad guy was his own brain? It wasn’t like you could pummel your own brain into submission.

Bucky had soft, even breaths, easy to keep time to. Eventually, Steve felt calm enough to pull his hands away from his face, wipe away the tears. ‘Sorry for wa – waking you up,’ he said, breath hitching a little around the tears, and stretched his legs back out slowly from where they’d been pulled up.

‘Don’t mention it.’ Bucky leaned his head forward against Steve’s shoulder, a comfortable, solid, presence. ‘You wanna talk about it?’

‘Not really.’

Steve fell asleep curled up against Bucky, just the way they used to when he was small and sick.

 

Thankfully, there were no more nightmares after that. Steve woke in the morning still curled up against Bucky – he knew it must look comical now, with him having at least a couple of inches and a fair few pounds on the other man. But it felt right to sleep like this.

Bucky was awake already, and he tightened his grip around Steve as he stirred. ‘You feelin’ better?’ he asked, head pressed against the back of Steve’s shoulder blade, and Steve thought about how cruel it was to have the man he loved so close and so far at the same time.

‘Yeah. How’d you feel about breakfast?’

‘I could really go for some pancakes right about now.’

‘Pal, you can always go for pancakes.’

 

Over breakfast, Steve said, ‘So I was thinking. And only if you wanted to. But – we’re only a couple of blocks away from our old apartment, and they turned the place into a museum. I thought – maybe we could go visit it today? Might stir loose some memories or somethin’?’

‘I’d like that.’

 

Bucky couldn’t exactly go out in sweatpants, no matter how comfortable they were, and so Steve dug around in his closet and found some proper clothes that looked like they might fit. Jeans and a t-shirt, and one of his jackets. Nothing fancy, but it wasn’t exactly a dress occasion anyhow.

When Bucky stepped back out into the living room, fully dressed, Steve said, ‘You’re thin,’ because it was true. It was especially true in Steve’s clothes, which might be a size too big for him anyway. They hung off of Bucky in a way that was flattering, but also gave the impression of a body too angular to be healthy.

‘Wasn’t exactly a lot to eat on the run from Hydra,’ Bucky said.

‘Alright, hike up your shirt, I wanna see the damage.’ Bucky hesitated, and Steve knew in an instant that he was stepping onto unstable ground he didn’t understand. Back before their lives went to hell, Bucky had always swanned around shirtless, or in just his undershirt – like he didn’t care who was looking. So for him to hesitate –

‘You don’t have to,’ and this time when Steve spoke he was softer. ‘It’s okay. But can I – feel through the shirt?’ He smiled gently and added, ‘I just want to know how much I’m going to have to feed you.’

‘Yeah, okay,’ Bucky said, and already he looked a little less uncomfortable. Steve stood up off the back of the couch where he was leaning, making his way over and gently resting a hand on Bucky’s ribs. And god, his ribs were sticking out far – his thumb dipped in and out over and over as he ran it down Bucky’s side. Bucky was quiet, eyes canted downwards, just letting Steve do what he needed to. Steve managed to justify getting his thumbs all the way down to Bucky’s hipbones (also far too prominent) before pulling back, taking a step sideways and finding Bucky’s spine with gentle fingers.

That was too exposed, too, vertebrae that might as well be mountains under Steve’s fingers as he ran them down, and he itched to keep running his fingers down, down, all the way down.

Instead he pulled back and said, ‘Well, that settles it. We’re definitely going to have to bulk you up.’

 

Bucky was twitchier in public, less likely to smile. His eyes roved more, taking in everyone who they crossed paths with. Steve could imagine his mind working: _are they a threat? What’s the likelihood they’re a Hydra agent? Any hidden weapons?_

Steve slipped an arm around his waist, fingers curling over the too-exposed hipbone hidden under Bucky’s shirt. ‘Anything out here sparkin’ anything?’ he asked, hoping to take Bucky’s mind off of paranoia for a moment.

Bucky switched from looking at the people to looking at their surrounds, still with the same concentrated gaze he levelled on every task he tried. ‘It’s – familiar. Like a dream, y’know? There’re memories there but I can’t quite get ‘em,’ he said, and then, ‘Did there used to be trees over there?’

Steve followed his gaze over to a tiny carpark, and smiled. ‘Yeah, it was a little park. We used to walk there at night sometimes, when it was a clear night, and look at the stars.’

‘I remember lookin’ at the stars,’ Bucky said. ‘I remember lookin’ at the stars, and thinkin’ how beautiful they were, and thinkin’ that they still weren’t as beautiful as -’ He stopped, blinked, and said, ‘Lost it.’

Steve didn’t think he had lost the memory at all, but he didn’t want to push it. Not as beautiful as who, he wondered? Whichever girl Bucky was seeing at the time, he guessed. Maybe thinking about the people they’d left behind was too painful.

Steve knew something about that.

 

The museum was 30 bucks for the both of them, and Steve eyed the veterans discount listed and came very very close to asking for it, just to be a little shit (after all, why the hell should he pay through the nose to see his own old apartment?). But the two of them were meant to be here incognito, and he knew he shouldn’t cause a fuss.

‘Have you been here before?’ Bucky asked, as they went in.

‘No, it felt – weird – going back. Without you, I mean,’ Steve said. After all, this had been their home for years – but the only thing that had made it a home, really, had been Bucky.

The stairs had been redone, but that made sense. Couldn’t have hundreds of visitors tramping up the creaky narrow steps they’d had back in the day – some things you just had to modernise.

Upstairs, they’d taken out the hallway wall into the apartment. You couldn’t actually go in, as it turned out. The hallway was a viewing area, and you could look into the apartment as it had been in the 40s. As it had _supposedly_ been in the 40s.

‘You know, I don’t remember a lot of stuff, but I sure don’t remember the place lookin’ like that,’ Bucky said.

‘There’s two beds,’ Steve said, flabbergasted.

‘We were poor, right? I didn’t think we could afford fancy furniture like that. And we definitely didn’t have a heater.’

‘Two beds.’

‘Plus the carpet is way too flash – I remember gettin’ splinters from the shitty wooden floorboards.’

_‘Two. Beds.’_

Steve looked at Bucky. Bucky looked at Steve. And as one, they had to clamp hands over their mouths to stop from laughing out loud. As it was, bent over and shaking from suppressed laughter, they still got the evil-eye from other visitors for disturbing the peace at the origin site of America’s greatest war heroes.

 

‘Maybe I could write a letter and complain,’ Steve said, pensively, as they wandered the streets later with takeaway coffee. ‘To whom it may concern, I visited your museum today and I just wanted to say: what the fuck.’

Bucky snorted and said, ‘So you really ain’t been there since you woke up?’

‘I’ve been busy. Plus I – I guess I didn’t really have time for Steve Rogers, you know? Captain America was who folks wanted.’ He took a sip of his coffee. ‘I spent a lot of time being Cap.’

‘The little guy from Brooklyn, Stevie,’ Bucky said, and almost looked him in the eye. ‘He’s the guy I’ve been followin’ all along.’

Steve took another sip of his coffee, and felt his best friend lean into his side, and looked around at the streets of Brooklyn, and he smiled.

‘You know, you can’t keep just wearing my clothes,’ he said. ‘How’d you feel about going clothes shopping?’

 

‘Steve, this shirt has your face on it,’ Bucky said, catching his wrist and pulling him over to a rack in the shop. Steve let out an over-dramatic groan but let Bucky take him.

‘Oh, these are terrible,’ he said, as Bucky held one up against himself and grinned. ‘“What Would Cap Do?”’ There were others, too – Steve picked up one that just had a picture of his face looking serious on it. ‘I cannot believe people would actually want to wear these.’

‘What about “I Can Do This All Day?”’ Bucky laughed as he offered the shirt to Steve, who just groaned and shook his head.

‘Don’t even start.’ He gestured at the rest of the store around them. ‘You’ve got literally every other clothing option possible – please pick something other than a shirt with my face on it.’

In the end, Bucky picked out a few pairs of jeans, some reasonable (read: without Steve’s face on them) shirts, and even a couple of pairs of shoes.

(But he did twist Steve’s arm in the end, and managed to get a shirt with a picture of Steve wearing a flower crown on it. The way he smiled as he asked for it, well… Steve had never been any good at saying no to that smile.)

 

Steve slid up the full-height living room window, sitting down on the window sill and swinging his legs out onto the fire escape. He liked to sit like this, sometimes, just to take in the city around him – watch the sun go down as New York lit up. He had a view straight across to Manhattan, and Stark Tower dominated the skyline. Sometimes he could see Tony fly in, and it made him smile a little.

But at the moment, the last of the day’s sun was streaking across the sky, framing buildings in gold and pink and purple.

‘Oh, wow,’ Bucky said from behind him, and Steve didn’t even jump. At this point in his life, he was used to people who moved more silently than a shadow.

‘Pretty beautiful, right?’

Bucky rested his hands on Steve’s shoulders and sounded like he was smiling a little when he said, ‘Yeah.’

Steve patted the spot beside him. ‘Watch it with me.’

Bucky dragged his hands across Steve’s shoulders as he stepped to the side, stepping through the window and sitting beside Steve. They were both broad at the shoulders and the window, while wide, wasn’t quite wide enough, so they were pressed together snugly – but Steve wouldn’t have it any other way.

The sun went down as they watched, and lights started turning on across the city – a web of people, all interconnected, so beautiful and so alive.

Steve leaned back inside for a moment, reaching to the little box he kept near the window for moments exactly like these – the source of his (second) deepest shame and something that’d probably ruin the reputation of Captain America forever if it were ever to come out.

Bucky laughed in disbelief as Steve sat back up in the window frame, holding a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. ‘You let me get all worked up over cigarettes and how they could’a killed you when you had some all along?’

Steve smiled guiltily. ‘You didn’t give me the chance to say anything. ‘Sides, I barely ever touch ‘em. And I don’t think they could do anything to me now, anyway – pretty sure I’m immune to lung cancer.’ Not that that’d change the fact that he did an anti-smoking PSA a year ago – it still got played on TV from time to time, and he’d seen his own face frowning back at him on signs when he was buying the damn things more than once.

Steve flicked open the pack, shaking out a cigarette and then offered the pack to Bucky. ‘You want one?’

‘Nah, I’ll just steal yours,’ Bucky said, and then did exactly that – Steve laughed but didn’t try to stop him. He flicked the lighter on, holding it for Bucky to light the cigarette. Then he tucked both the pack and lighter back inside.

‘Alright, you asshole, hand it back.’ He gestured to Bucky, who grinned and took a long drag before passing it over.

Steve took a drag, breathing the smoke back out in a long, slow stream. He always bought Luckies, no matter how hard the damn things were to find – Bucky had been right, they were the ones he’d always smoked. Sitting like this on a fire escape, smoking a cigarette – not so long ago, it’d felt like the closest thing he might ever get to home again.

He passed the cigarette back to Bucky without words, who took another drag and then blew a perfect smoke ring up into the night sky. Steve laughed and said, ‘You always used to do those.’

Bucky shrugged like it was nothing, but he was failing at smothering a grin. ‘Guess I still got it.’

Steve just smiled, twisting a little on the window sill so he could watch Bucky. Bucky, who’d gone through hell and changed so much but somehow still ended up here, in Steve’s apartment, blowing smoke rings on a fire escape like nothing was different. Bucky, who looked goddamn indecent with a cigarette in his mouth, who was looking out over the city like there was no place he’d rather be, who looked so happy.

Steve actually teared up a little at that thought, but then he’d always been an easy crier. Bucky glanced at him sidelong and said, ‘What’s wrong?’ He looked so concerned that Steve had to laugh and steal the cigarette back.

‘Nothing, Buck,’ he said, and took a drag, and grinned at his best friend. ‘Kinda the opposite.’

 

Of course, he should have known this was all too good to last.

 

Bucky had a nightmare that night, stuck halfway somewhere between himself and the Winter Soldier. Steve snapped awake to the sound of Russian, low and garbled in with English.

‘Завершить миссию – no, no, no – I won’t - без сбоев - устранить цель – I don’t want to –’

‘Bucky?’ Steve reached out, rested a hand on Bucky. ‘Buck. Wake up – it’s just a nightmare –’

Bucky gasped awake, eyes wide and frantic until they landed on Steve. ‘Я взял выстрел,’ he whispered, and then, ‘I took the shot, Steve, I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I took the shot –’

‘Hey, you’re alright, you’re alright,’ Steve said, sitting up and pulling Bucky in close. ‘You ain’t got nothing to apologise for, you hear me?’ He could feel Bucky’s heart near pounding out of his chest, and his breath was hitching the way Steve’s always did when he was close to breaking into a full-blown panic attack. Steve gently pulled Bucky to lean back against his chest, resting his chin on his right shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist – hoping to be a reassuring anchor.

‘Focus on my breathing, okay? Breath in time with me.’ Steve took slow, steady breaths, rubbing gentle circles on Bucky’s chest though his shirt with the palm of one hand. Gradually Bucky’s breathing seemed to come right, and his heartbeat slowed – still fast, but better than before.

‘It’s gonna be okay,’ Steve said, and Bucky huffed out something that could have been a laugh. ‘I mean it. You’re alright, I’m alright, we’re safe in bed.’ He closed his eyes, tilting his head to the side to rest against Bucky’s. A little of the tension went out of Bucky, and he leaned his head back against Steve’s.

‘Sorry, Stevie,’ he whispered, and Steve’s heart still fluttered a little every time Bucky called him that, even after all these years.

‘You say sorry to me so often I’m starting to think it’s my name,’ Steve said, and even though he couldn’t see Bucky’s face he could tell he smiled at least a little at that. ‘This isn’t your fault.’

Later, as they crawled back under the covers, Steve wrapped his arms tight around Bucky and cradled him close and thought that maybe, they were both a little fucked up. That maybe, this was just what happened to people like them. (But also that even though he deserved this, Bucky definitely didn’t.)

 

The nightmare put both of them on edge in the morning, and that might be the only thing that saved them (although Steve had to admit that these days, they both seemed pretty paranoid all the time anyway).

Steve was frying some bacon, and Bucky was sitting on the counter to his left, head leaned into Steve’s shoulder and eyes screwed up, and everything should have felt fine. But then everything seemed to go still, and the sound of the bacon frying got too loud, and he turned to look at Bucky just as Bucky sat upright and as one they said, ‘Get down.’

They ducked down behind the kitchen counter just as the front door blew in.

Heavy boots on the floor. Okay, so some kind of strike team. Steve thought he counted six different sets of footsteps, and beside him, Bucky muttered, ‘Six of ‘em.’ The footsteps stopped as they seemed to take up positions around the living room, and then a voice said,

‘Captain Rogers, we know you’re harbouring the Winter Soldier. Turn him over and we will leave you unharmed.’

Steve had no idea who these people were, but anyone who was coming to take away Bucky Barnes was definitely going to have to go through him first. ‘Get fucked,’ he called back, and was met with a smattering of gunshots overhead.

‘Captain Rogers,’ the voice said again, and Steve was sure he recognised that voice, ‘This is not a choice. The Winter Soldier will be coming with us.’

Oh. Right. It was Nolan. He’d been on the SHIELD strike team – before they’d all turned out to be Hydra. That made Steve feel immensely better about what he was about to do – after all, fighting Hydra was practically a public service.

‘Ready?’ He mouthed at Bucky, and Bucky nodded, a grim set to his jaw. Steve very quietly picked up the discarded frying pan and said, ‘Okay, okay, I’m coming out, please don’t shoot.’

It was a heavy frying pan. When Steve ducked around the end of the kitchen bench and lobbed it directly at one of the guys’ heads, he went down _hard_. Every gun in the place was instantly aimed at the end of the bench Steve had just ducked back behind – giving Bucky time to vault over the top and right into the middle of the group of men.

And then it was chaos.

Steve slammed a guy through a coffee table (sorry, IKEA) and then spun and gut-punched someone winding up to take a shot at Bucky. Bucky deflected a shot off of his metal arm into someone’s knee (okay, kinda hot, _stop getting distracted Steve_ ) as Steve gut-punched the guy a second time, and then Bucky slammed someone into a bookcase and stabbed them with a knife he apparently had on him all the time ( _that shouldn’t be hot either Steve_ ) and Steve grabbed Nolan by the collar and it was all over.

‘How the hell did you find us?’ Steve said, shoving Nolan up against a wall.

‘C’mon, Cap, you really think I’m going to tell you something like that? That’d spoil all the fun,’ Nolan said, grinning, and then his tongue went for a back tooth, and Steve said,

‘Don’t you fucking dare,’

and tried to shove his fingers in Nolan’s mouth but Nolan was already crunching on the cyanide pill and croaking out ‘Hail Hydra’ and foaming at the mouth. Dead. Steve let go, and Nolan slumped unceremoniously to the floor.

‘Fuckin’ Hydra,’ he said, turning to look at Bucky. ‘You alright?’

Bucky had a couple of scrapes on his temple and cheek, but nothing major Steve could see. ‘I’m fine, Steve. Just pissed.’

Steve’s knuckles were bruised, but that was nothing new.

‘Your apartment ain’t looking so flash, though,’ Bucky said, glancing around, and Steve winced.

‘Not really, huh.’ The old brick had done its best to keep the firefight contained, but everything else was shredded. The living room was basically annihilated, and so was most of the kitchen, and judging by the pock marks in the walls through to the rest of the apartment Steve guessed that wouldn’t be so good either.

Steve scrubbed a hand across his face and said, ‘Okay, so I know somewhere safe we can go. But you’re not gonna like it, and neither is anyone else.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title courtesy of Winston Churchill.
> 
> (Russian:  
> Завершить миссию - Complete the mission  
> без сбоев - no failure  
> устранить цель - eliminate the target  
> Я взял выстрел - I took the shot)


	4. Whenever a Man Does a Thoroughly Stupid Thing, It Is Always from the Noblest Motives

‘Stark Tower, Steve?’ Bucky hissed at the elevator doors slid shut on the ground floor of the tower. ‘Pal, listen, you are normally a dumbass, okay, but this is an even worse idea than usual.’

‘Tony’s said I’m welcome to stay here any time before,’ Steve said.

‘Yeah, but I don’t think he meant the guy who killed his parents could stay too!’ The words hung in the air between them for a moment, before Bucky continued, a little more quietly, ‘I killed Howard Stark, Steve. He was our friend and I killed him and I can’t get it out of my fucking head.’

‘I know, Buck. I’ve known since – since before the helicarriers.’ Steve shifted uncomfortably, and then said, ‘But that was the Winter Soldier, and this is you. And if he’s got a problem then we’ll find somewhere else, okay? We don’t gotta rely on anyone but ourselves.’

Before Bucky could even begin to argue, the doors dinged open on the communal floor. Most of the others were already in there – gathered around the TV. It was tuned to the news or something, Steve wasn’t sure. Hey, maybe this was a good thing. They’d be distracted, and he and Bucky could just skate on by upstairs to his floor.

‘Hey, Tony, is it alright if I stay here for a bit? I’ve got a couple of structural issues with my new apartment, as it turns out.’ Not technically a lie.

But Tony just turned and said, ‘Holy shit, Steve. You know the shooting at your apartment’s on national television?’

Damnit. Guess a national icon just couldn’t get shot at in peace these days.

Tony continued, ‘What, so was it AIM or Hydra or some other group –’ and then he went quiet, which was so rare Steve almost said something except they were all quiet. All quiet, and all focused not on Steve, but behind him.

And then Tony was moving very very slowly for the gauntlet he always kept hidden under the couch and said, ‘Steve, don’t panic, but the Winter Soldier’s behind you.’

Steve felt for Bucky behind him, stepped to the side to place himself squarely between the Avengers and Bucky. ‘This is my best friend Bucky Barnes,’ he said. ‘And if anyone so much as thinks about touching him it will not be pretty.’

‘Don’t be an idiot, Steve,’ Bucky said softly behind him, reaching out a hand to rest on his shoulder.

Steve turned his head slightly and said, equally softly, ‘When am I not?’

The Avengers – barring Nat, maybe - were all still staring at him, but maybe more in shock now. ‘Steve, no offence, but maybe you’re not the best judge of character in this situation,’ Bruce said. ‘He may look like your best friend, but the Winter Soldier’s a killer.’

_So am I_ , Steve thought, and smiled an ugly, harsh smile. ‘Yeah? Who’s gonna take him from me?’

The moment stretched out, tense and dark. Steve watched Tony’s fingers twitch, like he was still thinking about going for the gauntlet, and then eyed Bruce – who didn’t look green yet but that could change in a heartbeat. Was this really going to end in a fight? And then –

‘Stop being so dramatic, all of you,’ Nat said, and stood. ‘I trust Steve. And if he trusts Barnes then I trust him too.’ They were strong words, from Nat – Steve knew how hard earned her trust was. ‘We’ve all got dark pasts. And we’re all trying to outrun them.’ She glanced between Steve and Tony and said, ‘Look, if you’re going to fight then please just get it over with. But if not, then Steve – I’m more than happy to defend your right to stay here.’

Tony still looked tense and worried and ten kinds of pissed off as he said, ‘Yeah, okay, Barnes can stay. He knows where I am if he wants to finish off the full set of Starks.’

_Thanks, Tony. Amp up the guilt, why don’t you._ ‘We’ll be upstairs if you need us,’ Steve said, and then stepped back into the elevator, pulling Bucky with him. He jabbed the button for his floor, and then when the doors finally slid shut he felt a little of the tension go out of his shoulders. ‘Guess that went about as well as could be expected,’ he said.

‘Steve, I don’t want to come between you and your team – between you and your friends,’ Bucky said, resolutely staring at a point just behind Steve’s left ear. ‘I’ll go. It’s fine.’

‘What, and take your chances with Hydra alone? No way.’

‘I managed it before.’

‘Yeah but I – I don’t want you out there on your own.’ Steve sighed softly, reaching out a hand to curl round the back of Bucky’s neck. ‘They might be my friends but Buck, you’re my friend too. Look, I ain’t gonna stop you if you want to go, but I don’t want you to leave. We can be safe here, I promi –’

He stopped and frowned at Bucky.

‘What?’ Bucky said. ‘You were just workin’ yourself up to a decent motivational speech.’

‘Not to sound weird, but you’ve got something on the back of your neck. _In_ the back of your neck.’

‘What the fuck?’ Bucky reached for the back of his neck, but his fingers twitched reflexively away before he could touch it. ‘What the _fuck_?’ He tried again – again, his fingers twitched away.

‘We’ll take a look at the floor.’ The elevator doors slid open at his floor, and as always, Steve was impressed by the place. Tony hadn’t gone for the 40s vibe everyone seemed to assume Steve liked – the space was open and modern. Floor to ceiling windows. The living area alone was bigger than his entire apartment, too, so he wasn’t complaining.

Steve dropped their bags and his shield on the couch, then pulled out a stool at the counter and gestured for Bucky to sit. ‘Okay, let’s see what the hell this is. Can you hold your hair out of the way?’

Bucky pulled his hair to the side with one hand, and Steve frowned down at the nape of his neck. He smoothed a gentle thumb over the bumps of his spine – but that was definitely not what he’d felt. It was something smaller, something – there. ‘Okay, I think I found it,’ he said. ‘Can you really not touch it?’

Bucky tried again, with his other hand this time, but got the same result – fingers pulling away like they’d been burnt. ‘What the actual fuck,’ he said, flatly.

‘Hydra programming, I guess,’ Steve said, peering closer. ‘So whatever this is, they didn’t want you messing with it. Got any memories of it?’

‘Not in the least. But that doesn’t mean anything. What the fuck is it?’

‘Uh – you ain’t gonna like this. It looks like they put something in under your skin.’

‘Get it out.’

‘Buck, I don’t think that’s a good idea – what if it’s dangerous or something –’

‘Steve. Get. It. Out.’ There was a knife being passed to him over Bucky’s shoulder, and Steve swallowed.

‘Alright. You sure you trust me with this?’

‘Pal, you’re about the only person I trust. Do it.’

The knife was more than decently sharp, which made it easier. Steve pulled the skin over the bump taut with a thumb, and then gently, gently, cut into Bucky’s neck. Bucky didn’t even make a sound – his only reaction was to reach back with his free hand and grab ahold of Steve’s leg.

‘Alright, I think I can see it – looks metallic.’ He worked the point of the knife very carefully under, popping whatever-the-hell-it-was out and into his other hand. ‘Okay, you’re in the clear.’ He set the knife and metal thing down on the counter with a clatter, going for the first aid supplies.

When he came back, Bucky was turning it over in his fingers. Whatever-the-hell-it-was turned out to be a metal disc, about a centimetre across and half that thick. And it was flashing, a red LED like a malevolent eye blinking methodically. On – off – on – off. ‘It’s a tracker,’ Bucky said, voice flat.

Steve tipped disinfectant onto a cloth, pushing Bucky’s hair back up out of the way and cleaning the cut. ‘At least we know how they found you.’

‘I should have known. Course they’d have a tracker on me.’

‘Pal, they brainwashed you into physically not being able to touch it – I’m sure they did ten kinds of fucked up things to your brain. It’s not your fault.’ Steve smoothed a piece of gauze over the cut, covering it with medical tape.

‘Yeah, but because of me they followed it to your apartment, Steve. Your home. What if you’d been hurt – what if you’d been killed –’

‘Don’t you get hysterical on me, James Buchanan.’ Steve moved to stand in front of Bucky, leaning on his thighs and looking at him properly. ‘It’s Hydra. Hydra’s fault. Everything that’s happened to you – that’s on them. And guess what?’ He took the tracker, crushing it between two fingers – the red eye of Hydra finally fading into black. ‘Now they’ll never find you again.’ He tipped his head forward, resting his forehead on Bucky’s and closing his eyes. ‘We’re safe. I promise.’

Bucky brought a hand up to rest on the back of Steve’s neck, and there was a smile in his voice when he spoke. ‘I believe you.’

 

**Sam**  
               tell me that isnt really your apartment on tv  
               please just let one of your neighbours secretly be a terrorist or something  
               steve please reply youre worrying me

               **Steve**  
               It may have been my apartment.  
               Me and Buck are at Stark Tower, and we’re both okay.  
               Feel like helping me wipe out Hydra sometime?

               **Sam**  
               thought youd never ask

 

Steve spent most of the rest of the day on the phone to contractors, trying to organise getting his apartment fixed up. Apparently it was a crime scene (dead bodies tended to do that to a place) so the answers he was getting when he asked how long it would take were not good.

‘We could be here a while,’ he said, glancing over at Bucky.

‘How will we cope in such luxury?’ Bucky deadpanned, lazing across one huge couch.

 

Later in the afternoon, the shadows were stretching long across the city below. Steve was lying on his back on a couch reading a book, and Bucky was lying on top of him – asleep, he thought, or at least resting. His head was on Steve’s chest, and he looked peaceful.

Steve only realised that he wasn’t so much reading as just plain staring at Bucky when the elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and footsteps approached.

‘Help you?’ He couldn’t make out who it was with the back of the couch in the way, but smart money was on Tony.

‘It’s me, Steve.’ Yeah, it was Tony. Tony stepped closer so he was looking over the back of the couch at Steve and Bucky. ‘Wow – what a cosy looking death machine.’ But the snarky comment seemed more like it was just to cover up his surprise at seeing Bucky lying on top of Steve.

‘What’s up?’

‘Is there any way we can talk without – you know – the assassin in the room?’ Tony gestured at Bucky.

Steve shook his head, setting his book down carefully and gently resting a hand on the back of Bucky’s head. ‘I don’t want to disturb him. But he’s asleep. You can say whatever you need to.’

Tony sighed, looking Bucky up and down, and then apparently came to a decision. ‘Fine. Fine. Okay, Steve, he killed my parents.’ He ran a hand through his hair, looking like he’d been working himself up over this for hours. ‘Look, I may not have gotten on with my dad, but he was my dad and your man Barnes here? He killed him. Made it look like an accident and everything.’

‘I know, Tony.’ Steve said.

‘What do you mean, you know?’

‘I mean that I’ve known since before the helicarriers fell. Before SHIELD fell.’

‘You son of a bitch. You know I had to find out through internet conspiracy boards who combed through the leaked SHIELD files, right? And you couldn’t pick up the damn phone and tell me.’

‘Tony. Listen to me,’ Steve said. ‘Yes, the Winter Soldier killed your parents. But the man on top of me is no more the Winter Soldier than I am.’

‘Right. And I’m just meant to take your word for it because what, you’re Captain America and you always know best?’

‘I expect you to believe me because –’ Steve made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. ‘On the dining table. There’s a little metal thing.’

Tony stepped away for a moment, and when he returned he was holding the crushed tracker. ‘Great, some broken outdated technology.’

‘It’s a tracker, Tony. It was in his fucking neck.’ Tony got real quiet then, and Steve continued, ‘Hydra brainwashed him until he couldn’t even remember his own fucking name, and then they pointed him at the throat of the world. And trust me when I say that no one is more sorry than I am that Howard Stark is dead because of the Winter Soldier, but his death was not because of Bucky Barnes.’ He took a breath. ‘And I would never want you to believe me because I’m Captain America. But I’m hoping you’ll believe me because I’m Steve Rogers.’

Tony stared down at him. ‘Fuck you, Steve,’ he said finally. ‘Fine. Maybe he really is Barnes and not the Winter Soldier. But he shows one murderous tendency towards anyone I care about, and he’s gone. Understand?’

‘Yeah, Tony. I get it.’ But Tony was already gone, tossing the tracker on the table with a clatter and moodily stabbing the elevator button.

‘Oh, by the way – Pepper sent me up to tell you that team dinner’s on the communal floor in an hour,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘If you’re not too good for us.’ And then the doors shut, and he was gone.

Bucky took a soft breath, eyes fluttering open. ‘You know I was awake the whole time, right?’

‘Yeah pal, I know,’ Steve said, laying his head back on the armrest and threading his fingers through Bucky’s hair. ‘I know.’

 

They went down to dinner. Of course they did – Steve knew Tony was just lashing out from worry and hurt, and he wasn’t going to hold that against him (Steve could at least acknowledge it’d make him a big damn hypocrite). ‘You sure it’s alright for me to be here – I can just make something in the kitchen upstairs,’ Bucky said, jittery, on the elevator ride down.

‘Buck,’ Steve said. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

The doors opened, and from the dining room they could hear Tony talking loudly, ‘– and Barnes was honest-to-god lying on top of him, like, asleep on him. There has to be something there, right, like something’s going on –’

He cut himself off as Steve stepped through the doorway. ‘Hey,’ Steve said, just to break the sudden silence that had fallen over the room. There were two seats left open on the far side of the table – between Nat and Pepper. Steve breathed an ever-so-slight exhale of relief – he didn’t think he or Bucky could take a night stuck next to Tony right now.

He took the seat next to Nat, giving Bucky the seat next to the head of the table, beside Pepper. Pepper was reliably stable – she’d be kind to Bucky. Or at least not treat him like a murderer.

It was still completely silent, all eyes on Bucky. Steve leaned forward and smiled. ‘So – what’s for dinner?’

 

Conversation picked back up, eventually. Bucky didn’t really get included but he didn’t look too worried about it – seeming perfectly happy to fly under the radar.

Steve got a couple of questions about the shooting at his apartment, and there was a lengthy discussion about how Hydra were all assholes, but other than that, everything seemed set to go smoothly. And then. And then. Of course Tony Stark had to happen.

‘So what’s the deal with the arm?’ Tony said, pointing at Bucky’s left arm with a fork.

‘The arm?’ The table gradually went silent around them, until it was just Tony and Bucky speaking. Honestly, Bucky just looked surprised to be addressed.

‘Yeah. The metal one. What’s the tech like?’

‘Uhhh – honestly, I wouldn’t have a clue. It’s all Hydra.’

‘Hm,’ Tony said, and then, ‘I could take a look. See if I could make any improvements. Tinker around a bit.’

‘What, you’re not worried I’ll try take you out?’ Steve’s hand went to Bucky’s thigh and he squeezed. _Buck_. They weren’t meant to be rocking the boat. And Tony was unpredictable sometimes.

Tony regarded him for a moment, eyes narrowed, and then he said, ‘Nah.’ He took another bite of steak and continued, ‘Someone I – well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say respect, but someone I want to believe, reassures me you’re not the Winter Soldier. I figure I can take my chances with a geriatric from the 40s. I mean, I deal with _him_ –’ he gestured at Steve, and Steve rolled his eyes – ‘nearly every day. What do you say?’

Bucky just looked at him for a long moment, considering, and then shrugged. ‘Sure. You can’t do any worse to it than Hydra already did.’

And that was it. No real snark from Tony – only a little from Bucky. Situation resolved. Across the table, Tony winked at Steve, and Steve rolled his eyes again but smiled a little.

Who said Tony Stark didn’t have a heart?

Conversation picked back up, with Tony and Bruce excitedly (and loudly) talking about something new they were trying in the lab with robotics, and Steve leaned over to Bucky. ‘Told you we’d be fine,’ he said with a grin, and Bucky waved him off.

‘Shut up, you smug asshole,’ he said with a matching smile. ‘I’m trying to understand what the hell they’re talkin’ about.’

‘You’re still a nerd, 70 years later,’ Steve said, and squeezed his thigh again before letting go and sitting back up normally. He gave himself a second just to take in the look on Bucky’s face – the wide-eyed wonderment at what Tony and Bruce were saying – before looking away. The last time he’d seen that look had been in the 40s. It was nice to see it back.

On his other side, Nat gave him an odd look.

‘What?’ Steve said with a smile.

‘Nothing. You just – look happier,’ she said, and smiled back.

 

‘Holy shit, Steve, have you seen the size of this bathtub?’ Bucky called from the bathroom later, and Steve smiled. ‘This thing is the size of our old apartment.’

Tony knew how to build luxury, that was for sure. ‘Have a bath if you want. Take as long as you need.’

‘Damn fucking right I will.’ A tap started running, and the bathroom door pulled mostly shut. Bucky had always loved baths – not that they’d ever had much of a chance for them. Pre-war, you barely got showers. And during the war – when they were on leave in Europe, there were some places with public baths. But a private bathtub was one of the few real upgrades of the twenty-first century no one ever seemed to think about.

Steve pulled out his phone and stared down at the lock screen – a pre-war picture of him and Bucky he’d found online. Ever since he’d talked to Sam about being – about the thing – he’d had this buzzing under his skin, like something trying to work its way out. He didn’t want to tell people but he did. He could barely think it but he wanted to scream who he really was to the whole world.

The phone screen went dark and Steve just saw himself reflected in the black, like some kinda morbid reminder of who he had a responsibility to be. Well, if he couldn’t tell the world, and he definitely couldn’t tell Bucky, there was at least one other person he could start with.

He made his way into the bedroom and pulled the door shut, leaning back against the window sill and scrolling through his contacts. He tapped a name.

The call connected.

‘Hey, Nat,’ Steve said.

‘Steve. What’s up?’ She sounded cool and calm on the other end of the phone line, but Steve knew she was a heartbeat away from coming downstairs to help him, if he needed it.

‘It’s nothing major, don’t worry. I just – I wanted to tell you something.’ And he couldn’t bear to do it in person, so he was calling her despite the fact they were in the same goddamn building because it might somehow be easier over the phone.

‘Okay? I’m listening.’ At least she didn’t push about doing it in person – Nat was good like that.

‘Okay, alright, see, Nat, the thing is – you’re my friend, right, and friends tell each other things about themselves, and so I figure you should probably know more about me, and –’ Steve was aware he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop himself. Anything to not say it. No matter how much he wanted the words out, he also didn’t.

‘Rogers.’ She cut him off. ‘Whatever it is, just say it.’

Steve took a breath, and then let it out like a muffled scream under his breath. ‘Okay, Nat, uh, it’s like this – I’m –’ The word got stuck in his throat, and he swallowed around it. ‘I’m bisexual.’

‘No shit, Steve,’ Nat said.

Steve blinked. ‘What?’

Nat sighed, and Steve got the feeling she was making that face she always made when he was being especially dumb. ‘What, you think I haven’t seen you turn around to check out a guy’s ass before? You’re subtle, but you’re not _that_ subtle.’

‘Oh,’ Steve said, in lieu of being able to form an actual coherent thought.

Nat must have sensed his rising panic, though, because she took pity and added, ‘But look, Steve, I’m a spy. I work people out for a living. Your secret’s safe with me.’

Steve took another breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and said, ‘Thanks, Nat.’ Okay, so this was going well. Everything was fine, everything was fine – and then Nat had to go and say,

‘Besides, I only really worked it out when Barnes showed up.’

‘What?’ Steve said again, but with more force this time.

‘Oh come on, you’re clearly into him,’ she said.

‘I am _not_ – how could you even _think_ –’

‘Don’t give yourself an aneurysm, old man,’ Nat said dryly. Then she got more serious. ‘Steve, listen to me. Where I grew up – where I was trained – they taught us that love wasn’t real.’ Her voice was flat, emotionless, the way it always was when she talked about where she came from. She never even flinched when talking about her history and so like always, Steve winced for her. ‘Love was weakness, love was to be exploited, you understand? I don’t think I’m capable of falling in love. Or that I’d want to.’

Christ, and that was ten times more fucked up than him, and Steve almost said something but then Nat cut him off. ‘Don’t say something noble or I’ll come down to your floor and strangle you. Let me finish.’ She took a breath, and continued, ‘I’ve been taught my whole life that love is worthless. So please believe me when I say that when you saw Bucky Barnes on that highway for the first time in 70 years and you looked at him like nothing else under the sun and stars mattered, when you said his name and it broke through decades of Hydra programming, when you were willing to die for him rather than have to fight him – that was the first time I ever thought that maybe one day I’d like to find someone to fall in love with.’

‘Christ, Nat,’ Steve said, and let out a breathy laugh, because it was either that or cry and he was already tearing up a bit (or maybe a lot).

‘Don’t get weepy on me Steve, I don’t cope well with tears,’ Nat said, but he thought that maybe there was something in her voice that said she was crying a little too.

He wiped away a tear that’d escaped down his cheek, sniffed, and said, ‘Me, get weepy? Never.’ They both went quiet for a moment or two, and it was nice – reassuring. Sometimes it was nice to just accept that they’d both gone through some fucked up stuff, and that they at least had one another to help pull themselves back together.

Steve managed to compose himself well enough to talk again. ‘Thanks, Nat. I mean it.’ He scrubbed a hand over his face and added, ‘You always know what to say.’

‘Yeah, and if you tell anyone what I said I’ll deny it,’ she said, but she sounded like she was smiling. ‘I’m happy for you, Steve. Really. Thank you for telling me.’

‘You’re my friend, Nat,’ Steve said, and hoped that those words could convey everything he felt for her. ‘I’ll talk to you later.’

‘See you, Steve.’ The tone of her voice suggested she’d got what he was trying to say, and Steve smiled softly as he hung up the phone. He wiped at his eyes again, hoping it wasn’t too obvious he’d been crying.

Opening the bedroom door again and heading back out into the living room, he could hear Bucky quietly splashing around through the cracked-open bathroom door. Steve smiled softly, making his way over to the floor length windows to look out over the city.

He’d always liked how peaceful it all looked from up here – like the stars had been laid out on earth. From here he could forget the rest of the world existed for a while and have a moment just for him – just for him and Bucky. No Captain America to get in the way.

Stepping back, he sat down on the couch and turned on the TV, just to see what was on. Late night news. The first thing that came up was a picture of him, and he suppressed a groan. Right. Of course it had to be about him.

‘… And our viewers will remember Captain Rogers’ outburst at a press conference two months ago – his last public appearance – at which he dropped several f-bombs.’ The version they played was heavily censored, but Steve still winced. ‘This, combined with the latest news of an apparent firefight at his apartment in Brooklyn, leads us to ask – just what is going on with Captain America?’

Steve rolled his eyes and changed channels, shooting a text to Pepper about sorting a press conference for him.

Discovery Channel had something soothing on about jellyfish, and he let his mind wander.

 

Steve woke being tucked into bed. He blinked a couple of times, and then said, eloquently, ‘Wha?’

‘Go back to sleep, doll.’ Bucky’s voice was soft and low as he climbed into bed beside him. Steve rolled over and snuggled closer, and Bucky wrapped his arms around him.

Bucky smelt nice.

‘You smell nice,’ Steve told him.

As he drifted off again, he imagined he felt Bucky press a kiss to his forehead.

 

Bucky had another nightmare, and woke trying to tear off his left arm.

‘Buck – Buck, hey, hey!’ Steve grabbed his right arm and pulled it away from where his fingers were scrabbling at the join between metal and skin.

‘Get it fucking off me, Steve, get it off!’ Bucky was frantic, thrashing, trying desperately to pull his arm free and get at the metal again.

‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you can’t – you can’t.’ Steve blinked back tears, kneeling over the top of Bucky and pinning both his arms down. ‘Buck, please – you gotta breath for me, alright, deep breaths. Deep breaths.’

‘Stevie – please – let me get rid of it – I swear it’ll be fine – I killed so many people with it, pal, I – I – I killed you with it.’ By the end of it, Bucky’s voice was barely a whisper, eyes closed.

‘I’m right here. I’m here. I’m not dead.’

‘That’s what you’d say if you were dead,’ Bucky said, but at least he’d stopped fighting, and Steve slowly let go of his arms. ‘Maybe we’re both dead.’

_Not such a bad afterlife, then, to spend it with you_ , Steve wanted to say, but didn’t; instead he just gently wiped away the tears from Bucky’s face and said, ‘Go back to sleep, okay? I’ll be right here if you have any more bad dreams.’

Steve wanted desperately to lie down on top of Bucky, centre him with the weight – but Bucky was still thin, and Steve was still scared of breaking him. He settled for lying down beside him and draping a leg over one of Bucky’s thighs, wrapping his arms tight around the other man’s chest and pressing his nose into the crook of his neck.

 

When Steve was young, he was sure Bucky was going to Hell.

Not in any kind of malicious way – but the way he saw it, he went to church every Sunday with his ma and Bucky didn’t and that meant he was Hell-bound. He always felt bad about it – praying for Bucky every night. _C’mon, God, Bucky’s a swell guy, just because he doesn’t go to church doesn’t mean he ain’t a stand-up fella, surely Saint Pete can crack the pearly gates open and let him in_ –

When Steve was 15, and he realised he’d been in love with Bucky Barnes for years, he knew he was going to Hell too. Was it bad it didn’t worry him, as long as he was with Buck?

 

Maybe they _were_ both dead, and this was Hell.

Not so bad, then.

 

‘I’m sorry about last night,’ Bucky said, when Steve woke in the morning.

‘Quit apologizin’ all the damn time,’ Steve said. ‘Lemme see your shoulder.’

Luckily Bucky’s nails were blunt, since even so the scrapes around the join between metal and skin were red and raised. Steve made him put an icepack on it while he cooked breakfast, Bucky sitting moodily on the countertop – he always seemed to get that way after nightmares. Like they followed him into the light of day.

Steve knew something about that.

_‘Captain Rogers, you have a visitor,’_ a voice said from the ceiling, and Bucky said,

‘What the fuck.’

‘It’s just Jarvis.’ Steve rested a hand on Bucky’s leg reassuringly. ‘Hey Jarvis, this is my friend Bucky Barnes.’

_‘Hello, Sergeant Barnes. My name is Jarvis – I’m the artificial intelligence that runs Stark Tower.’_

‘So you’re a computer? But I’m talking to you.’ At least it seemed to have snapped him out of his funk – Bucky was a junkie for anything futuristic.

_‘Yes, Sergeant. Mr Stark programmed me with a personality and voice to make integration and control easier. Samuel Wilson is waiting – should I send him up?’_

‘Yes please,’ Steve said, and then looked at Bucky with a grin. ‘Pretty cool, huh?’

 

‘Steve, if I’ve said it once I’ve said it a hundred times, this place is _sweet_.’ Sam said, stepping out of the elevator. ‘I don’t know why you don’t live here full-time.’

‘Too close to Tony,’ Steve said with a laugh. ‘Want some bacon?’

‘Would I ever.’ And then Sam noticed Bucky still seated on the counter.

‘Oh, right, proper introductions,’ Steve said, piling bacon onto a plate. ‘Sam Wilson, meet Bucky Barnes. Bucky, meet Sam.’

‘Hmm,’ Sam said, crossing his arms.

‘Sorry about your car,’ Bucky said. ‘And the whole ripping the steering wheel out the windshield thing.’

‘Apology not accepted,’ Sam said. ‘I liked that car.’

And then Sam grinned and Bucky grinned and Steve groaned because Christ, they were both assholes, _of course they were going to get on_.

 

‘… wait, so he actually used to get into back-alley fights? That’s not, like, some old-timey story he made up? Because that is definitely not in the history books.’ Sam and Bucky had been talking for what felt like hours, and Steve was amused but also terrified.

‘Pal, you would not _believe_ how many times he got his ass handed to him by some dumbass in an alleyway. You know I still can’t walk past an alley without glancing down it to make sure Stevie ain’t in there getting pummelled?’

Steve groaned. ‘C’mon, Buck, you really gonna do me dirty like that? Gimme a little credit. I got a couple’a licks in too most times.’

‘Hmmm, let me think about that.’ Bucky looked at Steve with a grin. ‘How many busted lips did I clean up? It’s a wonder your nose still looks the way it does, too, the number’a times you broke it.’

‘Captain America, national hero, fighting dudes in back alleys,’ Sam said, pensively. ‘Not such a great look.’

‘Yeah, that’s why they keep trying to cover it up,’ Steve said. ‘Smithsonian calls ‘em ‘schoolyard brawls’.’

‘They fucking what?’ Bucky said, leaning forward to eye Steve across the counter. ‘You’re telling me in the future everyone thinks _Steve Rogers_ is a _saint_?’

‘Buddy, you better believe it. I’m a goddam national hero.’

Right at that moment, a soft voice spoke from overhead, _‘I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but Mr Stark wanted me to let Sergeant Barnes know that he’s welcome to come by the lab now if he wants to have his arm looked at.’_

Bucky let out a sigh and stood. ‘Wilson, it’s been great, but I gotta go let a madman poke at my arm,’ he said.

‘Hey, before you go, lemme see how your shoulder’s looking. And the back of your neck, too.’ Steve waved Bucky over, and Bucky rolled his eyes but just let it happen. The scratches were mostly faded, and when Steve peeled off the bandage on the nape of his neck, all that was left was a red line. Enhanced healing too, then. Steve resisted the ridiculous impulse to press a kiss to it, instead just gently smoothing a thumb over the thin line and said, ‘Okay, you’re good to go.’

‘Thanks, ma,’ Bucky said, but smiled, and headed for the elevator.

‘Don’t let Tony do anything dangerous!’ Steve called after him, and Bucky turned back with a grin.

‘I’m the most dangerous thing around here, sweetheart.’

And then he was gone.

‘Steve, he just called you sweetheart,’ Sam said faintly, and Steve forced himself to wipe away the dopey grin he knew he had on his face. Instead, he just shrugged nonchalantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from, once again, Oscar Wilde (even better, because it's from The Picture of Dorian Gray).


	5. Tell the Truth, or Someone Will Tell It for You

‘So you’re telling me you live together. Eat together. Sleep in the same bed together. You basically do everything people in a relationship do. But you’re not in a relationship.’

‘We _aren’t_. Hey, we’ve never kissed. Or – you know.’ Steve’s ears flushed red at the thought of anything further, and Sam sighed heavily.

‘Oh, man. Nat, back me up here – they’re totally dating, right?’

‘Look, I don’t know if we can get in the middle of a super soldier love affair that’s literally spanned centuries.’ Nat had conveniently shown up right after Bucky left – Steve had a feeling she and Sam had been coordinating. God, was this an intervention?

‘I honest to God witnessed Barnes call him sweetheart this morning.’

‘Yeah, but he used to do that all the time in the 40s,’ Steve said. ‘Look, I think you’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion. It’s just how he shows affection – it doesn’t mean anything.’

‘I don’t know, Steve,’ Sam said. ‘If a dude called me sweetheart I’d probably think he was into me.’

‘Yeah, but –’ Steve sighed exasperatedly. He seemed to be doing that a lot, these days. That, and explaining how things were different. He started, ‘Look, at the risk of sounding like a broken record, things were different back then,’ and Sam and Nat both groaned at that.

‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘Look, back then guys were more – I don’t know. Touchy-feely.’

‘Rogers, don’t ever use that phrase again,’ Nat said.

‘Okay, fine. But it wasn’t weird back then for us to be this close. You’re both looking at a 40s friendship with a 21st century gaze.’

Sam just regarded him seriously for a moment, and Steve really thought he might have sold it, before he said, ‘Nah. I don’t buy it.’ He held up a hand before Steve could even open his mouth and said, ‘No, listen, Steve. I get what you’re saying, I really do. And like, okay, I’ll buy the sharing-a-bed thing as a holdover from being poor and cold, but like. Dude. If people were as homophobic back then as you say they were, do you really expect me to believe that they were cool with Barnes calling you sweetheart?’

‘I –’ Steve had his mouth open, but nothing to say. Bucky’d tell him to shut it, lest he caught flies, and so he snapped it shut again. He let out a sharp breath, staring past Sam and into space as he thought for a moment. He’d… never really thought about it that way. And Bucky had never called him doll or sweetheart or sugar in public – it’d always been behind the safe, locked door of their apartment, or up close whispered into his ear, or lying in bed together.

Well, when in doubt, repress it. Steve was real good at repressing shit.

‘I think it’s still just him showing he cares,’ he said with a shrug, and Sam made a face like he was in genuine physical pain. ‘Besides, look, I’m comfortable with how things are.’

‘Steve, we’re here as two people who both care about you,’ Nat said. ‘Don’t you want to know if Barnes feels the same as you?’

‘Well, yeah, but –’ Steve was finding himself saying that a lot, too. ‘Look, I – I have Bucky back, and things are starting to feel how they should, and I’m starting to feel like myself again. I really am happy with how things are. I’m not gonna risk that all on the impossible chance he feels the way I do.’

‘Steve –’

‘I mean it. I appreciate you’ve both got my best interests at heart, but I’m alright. Really.’

They both just looked at him for a moment, and Steve felt uncomfortably scrutinised. ‘Okay,’ Sam said at last. ‘This is your gig, Steve. You make the calls. But it’s not exactly like you’re a stranger to risk,’ and that felt like a challenge, and Steve itched under his skin to take it up, to prove to Sam that he wasn’t afraid of a little risk.

But this wasn’t a little risk. It was a big one. The biggest risk of his life and he just – couldn’t do it.

‘Thank you for being good friends,’ Steve said. ‘I appreciate everything you do for me. But I’m gonna leave things as they are.’

Nat just leaned in with a smile and said, ‘Okay, Steve, but if you ever want some seduction tips –’

‘Oh, would you look at the time,’ Steve said, standing up sharply and nearly sending his chair toppling backwards. ‘I have a press conference in an hour where I’ll have to apologize for saying ‘fuck’ three times on live national television.’

 

Steve put some effort in – Pepper had found a suit that fitted him well, since his wardrobe was currently limited to everything he’d thrown in a duffel bag in a hurry. He shaved real careful and real neat, army regulations. He even looked himself in the mirror and said out loud, ‘You can do this.’ But the Captain America pep that seemed to hype everyone else up didn’t really work when he could see through the bullshit on the outside to the man underneath.

The conference was being held in the conference room a few floors down, and an aide picked him up from outside the elevator and escorted him straight through to the right place. Steve took his place behind the microphone at the podium, feeling more than a little uncomfortable alone at the centre of this much attention. Pepper was standing off the side, and she smiled at him. Steve smiled slightly back. Okay. This was fine. This was going to be fine.

‘Before I accept any questions, I’d like to first and foremost issue a formal apology for the way I spoke at the press conference two months ago,’ he lied through his teeth (contrary to popular belief, Steve actually did know how to lie). He didn’t want to apologise – he’d say it again in a heartbeat. But he needed to not rock the boat right now. ‘I’m happy to take any questions.’

‘Captain! Can you explain why you said what you said? Were you under the influence of alcohol or drugs?’

Wasn’t that technically slander? He spotted Pepper roll her eyes, and suppressed a smile. ‘No ma’am, I was not. I was completely lucid and sober when I spoke, and I have no excuse other than that I was frustrated.’

‘What about the shooting at your home that occurred yesterday? Can you comment on what sparked it?’

‘My apartment was invaded by a Hydra force attempting to kill me.’ Not technically a lie (because even though he knew how to lie, he didn’t like to). ‘I’m pleased to say they failed.’

‘Captain Rogers? What do you say to the rumours circulating online that suggest you may be harbouring the Winter Soldier?’

The room seemed to go still for Steve. And then the reporter kept speaking, rapid-fire, like he was afraid he’d be stopped any second. ‘Additionally, I have sources that claim to have seen another man also leaving your apartment after the shooting, who appears to match the description of the Winter Soldier. Any comments?’

Like a daze, he saw Pepper start to move forward to end things. But he waved her off. ‘I can reassure everyone in this room,’ he said, leaning forward and speaking slowly and deliberately and not sounding at all like Captain America as he did so, ‘that I am the least likely person to be harbouring a Hydra operative.’ He smiled then, not a nice smile, and said, ‘No further questions.’

Steve strolled out of the room, leaving behind the clamouring of reporters, with the vague feeling that he may have only made things worse. It was probably a bad thing he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

 

‘So, this arm is ten types of fucked up,’ Tony said upstairs, in his lab. Steve had wandered up to check on Bucky (and also to not be alone right now). ‘Check out the way it’s wired in.’ He gestured with one hand and blew up the hologram bigger, showing how the metal arm was connected.

Steve was no expert on technology, but if he had to guess he’d say that the way strands of metal looked to snake further into Bucky’s chest was not good. ‘Looks painful.’

‘Yeah pal, you’re telling me.’ Bucky was sat on a stool nearby, short sleeve pushed up past his shoulder, and Steve took the chance to examine how the arm connected on the surface of his body. Angry scarring radiated out and snaked under the shirt, lining up with what was apparently implanted. Steve wanted nothing more than to run gentle hands over the scar tissue, soothe the pain. But it was 70 years too late for that.

‘The bad news is that I don’t think I can remove all of that. It’s old technology, but it works well, and the way it’s been put in – taking it out would cause more harm than good.’

‘And the good news?’ Steve said. ‘There is good news, I hope.’ God, Steve needed some good news right now.

‘Oh, yeah. I can totally take the rest of the arm off and replace it.’

‘What?’ Bucky straightened up and started to pay more attention. ‘You can get it off?’

‘Yeah. I mean, not right now – I’ll need some time to work this all out, plus design a newer, cooler arm.’ Tony grinned. ‘But it looks like it disconnects, although only a genius could get it off with no damage. Luckily for you, that’s what you’ve got right here.’

‘Thank you, Tony,’ Steve said, and meant it. ‘You have no idea what that means to hear.’

‘No problem, Steve-o. Anything for you and your man.’

 

‘… and he showed me a couple of projects he was working on, though he got all weirdly defensive when I asked him where he was hidin’ the flying cars.’ Steve snorted into his dinner at that. ‘I mean, we saw Howard do it back in the 40s, right? You’d think they’d be everywhere by now.’

No team dinner that night – just a quiet night in with the two of them on their floor. Bucky had gone full nerd on him, and was describing everything he’d seen that day – most of it was going over Steve’s head entirely, but he was enjoying just watching Bucky be passionate again.

Then Bucky glanced over at him and asked, ‘So how’d your press conference go?’

‘Horribly,’ Steve said, and then sighed. ‘Well – I don’t know. First couple of questions were fine, but then someone straight out asked me if I was harbouring the Winter Soldier. Apparently there are rumours online – I know everyone’s going nuts trying to work out who’s really behind the mask. And the reporter claimed to have some source who saw us leave the apartment together after the shooting.’

Something in Bucky’s jaw tightened, and he said, ‘What did you say?’

‘I told them I was the least likely person to harbour a Hydra operative, which is true. Even if I technically _am_ illegally harbouring the Winter Soldier.’

Bucky smiled, but it was a half-hearted attempt. ‘I can’t hide out forever, Steve.’

‘I know, pal.’ Steve reached across the table, rested a hand on top of Bucky’s. ‘Which is why me and Sam are gonna go blow up a Hydra base tomorrow.’

 

The base was, as it turned out, embarrassingly easy to knock over. Given Hydra seemed to be crumbling, though, it was hardly surprising. They managed to salvage some intel suggesting some more locations for bases – and Steve loved a good checklist.

 

‘Didn’t you used to draw all the fucking time?’ Bucky said, the first thing out of his mouth when he opened his eyes one morning. And Steve remembered that before he was Captain America, Steve Rogers was an artist.

Steve filled notebook after notebook, pencil sketches of everything and anything he could get his hands on. Mostly Bucky, since Bucky was always there and extremely photogenic. He had an entire two-page spread just of Bucky’s eyes at different angles – the light catching them in different ways.

(Bucky was still struggling with eye contact. But Steve knew he’d get there eventually – Bucky had always been a stubborn son of a bitch.)

 

‘Huh, you’re still carting this around.’ Bucky said, emerging from their bedroom.

‘Still carting what around?’ Steve said, turning from where he was in the kitchen.

‘That dumb compass you never put down back in the war. Didn’t mean to snoop, but it was in the top dresser drawer,’ Bucky said, holding it up as he brought it over. ‘I remember you carried this with you everywhere in the war – damn thing never gave you the right direction once.’ He set it down on the bench and flicked it open, and his smile – faded a little, somehow. Still had all the same swagger and teasing cockiness as before, but now it felt like it was being filtered through blinds behind all that. ‘Oh, right, I forgot. Got a picture of your girl in here.’

Steve took a breath, drying his hands with a tea towel and flicking it over his shoulder as he turned to face Bucky at the kitchen bench. They’d survived the war, they were both in the future, Steve could admit this little thing, at least. ‘Take out the picture of Peggy.’

‘What?’ Bucky said, glancing up at him with a frown.

‘You heard me. Be careful, it’s old paper, but – take it out.’ Bucky very carefully got a fingernail under the edge of the picture, prying it up and pulling it out.

And then he said, ‘You sap.’

Because behind the old picture of Peggy was an even older picture of Bucky – one Steve had taken right after Bucky had gotten his army uniform and was all dressed to the nines. Steve had scrimped and saved every last penny to get a camera, and really, who else was he going to waste his limited precious film on than Bucky?

_‘Stand still, Barnes, your hair looks fine,’ Steve had said, and Bucky had flashed him a wide cocky grin._

_‘That’s Sergeant Barnes to you, mister,’ he’d said, and then turned his head to the side and looked at the camera at just the right angle to look his best. The sight of him then, as Steve took the photo, had taken his breath away._

_The sight of Bucky always took Steve’s breath away._

Steve’s ears were flushed red, but he shrugged like it was no big deal. ‘I had the picture lyin’ round when I shipped out, and I figured I needed someone to be fightin’ the war for. Didn’t have a girl, so instead I was punchin’ the Nazis for your dumb mug.’

He couldn’t say what he really wanted to say about it, which was: I had it in there because I love you, Buck, and I had to cover it with the picture of Peg because some of the guys were starting to wonder why I’d always be looking at a picture of a fella and I thought maybe they’d start to think I was a _queer_ and I couldn’t take that, Buck, I couldn’t let anyone know –

Bucky was giving him an odd look, like he couldn’t work Steve out. Finally, he seemed to just settle on snorting and saying, ‘I was punchin’ enough Nazis anyway, you dumbass.’

But when he set the compass down out on a shelf, he left it open and the picture of Peggy out beside it, so they could see that it was a picture of him inside.

 

‘You’d think Hydra would have better defences,’ Sam said, kicking a Hydra agent in the stomach. ‘Is that the last of them?’

‘Looks like. Guess we’re doing too well at wiping them out – they ain’t got the manpower no more.’

Sam was staring at him, and Steve said, ‘What?’

‘Dude. You just said ain’t.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’ve known you for a while now, and you’ve never said ain’t before. Well, at that press conference, sure, but you were pretty worked up. You’re starting to talk like Barnes.’

‘Hey, I ain’t startin’ to talk like Bucky,’ Steve said, and then sighed at the look he was getting. ‘Fine, okay.’ He tilted his head a little, blinked a couple of times, and then said, ‘You mean I normally talk like this, right?’ His voice was back to the solid, reassuring Captain America Sam was used to. ‘This is isn’t how I really talk. I mean, it is, but it isn’t. You think I just happened to have a peppy all-American accent? Pal, the army told me I had to nix the Brooklyn because it was so thick folks could barely understand me sometimes.’

‘No way,’ Sam said. ‘That’s definitely not in the history books.’

Steve grinned. ‘Oh, you hadn’t realised yet there’s a lot that isn’t?’

 

‘Steve? What the genuine fuck is this?’

Steve sat up properly on the couch, looking over the back into the kitchen. ‘Oh my god,’ he said. ‘The bananas. You don’t know about the fucking bananas.’

‘I took a bite and it was the worst thing I’d ever eaten,’ Bucky said, holding the banana out at arm’s length. ‘But it _looked_ ripe.’

‘Buck, I don’t know how to break it to you – but the bananas we used to eat are gone. Pretty much wiped out. Those bananas are what everyone thinks is normal now.’

‘What the _fuck_?’

 

One lazy afternoon, Steve and Bucky had the TV on. Bucky was lying on top of Steve again, head resting on his chest and turned to watch the movie, and Steve was gently carding his hand through Bucky’s hair and thinking more about Bucky than whatever was on.

‘You ever think about coming out with me and Sam on missions?’ Steve asked, softly, and Bucky turned his head, planted his chin on Steve’s chest, and maintained heavy eye contact with Steve’s right ear.

‘I mean, yeah, but no. I don’t want to run the risk of – him – coming back out, you know? Some days I feel like I’ve only just got the Soldier reined in.’

Those were the days when Bucky spent the whole day on edge, never letting Steve out of his sight. He tended to talk less, on bad days, but instead just maintained constant physical contact – draped across Steve’s chest, or an arm around his waist, or his head in Steve’s lap for Steve to run his fingers through his hair. But if that was what it took for Bucky to feel safe, well, Steve wasn’t going to complain.

(He’d take all the contact with Bucky he could get.)

‘Okay,’ Steve said, and turned back to the movie. Neither of them was really watching it at this point, though, and Steve had totally lost the trail of the plot – some comedy, he thought, Clint had recommended it – and so soon he said, ‘Want to come to the gym with me?’

‘Sure.’

The gym was a couple of floors down, and fantastic – seeing it for the first time was probably the closest Steve had ever come to saying yes to moving into Stark Tower full time. Steve wrapped his knuckles and started in on a punching bag, while Bucky seemed more interested in the treadmills.

It had only been about ten minutes when the sound of Bucky half-hearted running on the treadmill died off, and Steve heard him flop down on the floor behind him. ‘Tired?’ He asked, without turning round.

‘Bored,’ Bucky said, and Steve landed one last punch before turning.

‘Bored?’ He echoed with a smile, and moved to stand over Bucky and looked down at him. Almost unconsciously, Bucky’s hand found his ankle to rest on. Steve just regarded Bucky for a moment, and Bucky managed the silence between them for all of about ten seconds.

‘See something you like?’ He said to break it, fluttering his eyelashes.

Steve laughed. ‘Definitely not your face.’ He nudged Bucky’s side with a toe and added, ‘But you’re looking less thin. You still don’t like the idea of hiking up your shirt?’

‘Not so much.’

 Steve just smiled softly and said, ‘It’s fine, Buck, really. We’ve all got things.’ He leaned down, running fingers down the side of Bucky’s rib cage. Still sticking out, but nowhere near as bad as before. And his hipbones only stuck out a normal amount now. They were getting somewhere.

 ‘You look better,’ Steve said, and straightened up. ‘If you’re so bored, how ‘bout some sparring?’ When Bucky looked sceptical, he continued, ‘Unless you’re worried about getting your ass handed to you by a 100-year-old man.’

Bucky snorted and said, ‘Only 100-year-old man round here who’s any good at ass-kicking is me, doll. You’re on.’ Steve caught his hand and pulled him upright, and then backed off a bit, getting a bit of space between them.

He took up a loose defensive posture, moving lightly on his feet. Bucky, in comparison, was a much more solid force – Steve guessed he had to be, though, probably weighed down by the arm.

‘What, you scared of a geriatric?’ Bucky said. ‘C’mon, hit me.’ Steve grinned and swung a punch, openly telegraphing his movements – and so Bucky easily dodged it. ‘Steve, I can tell when you’re going easy on me. I ain’t gonna break.’

‘Alright, then.’ And then it was on. Bucky ducked easily away from Steve’s jab, and countered with a punch aimed at Steve’s ribs. Steve skipped backwards and grinned – they were evenly matched.

It was odd, sparring like this again. They’d done it in the war, and even then been fairly evenly matched – Bucky had always been a good fighter, even before the Hydra serum, even before the Winter Soldier. But back then, they’d had such similar fighting styles. After all, Bucky had taught Steve everything he knew about fighting.

But now, Steve had studied fighting properly. Back in the 40s, a punch was a punch – if you were fighting dirty, you might get a kick in too. In the modern era, though, there was a hell of a lot more to it than that. Different styles, different techniques. He’d learnt savate, jiu-jitsu, kickboxing, among others – a veritable smorgasbord of styles and training. It seemed to work for him, at least.

Bucky, on the other hand – he moved now with the terrifying assurance that his body was a deadly weapon. Steve wondered what Hydra had trained him in, what memories they’d put into his brain to make him fight this way.

Bucky moved to swipe Steve’s legs out from under him, and Steve leapt back out of the way. He retaliated with a kick to the side, but Bucky caught his foot and twisted. Steve landed square on his back with a gasp of air, and then twisted sideways just as Bucky brought his metal arm crashing down. ‘You – were you going to actually hit me with that?’ He gaped, and Bucky flashed a grin.

‘I knew you’d move.’

‘You’re a jerk.’ Bucky had let his guard down, and Steve took his legs out with one of his own, bringing him down beside him. Then Steve was pining Bucky down by the wrists, knees either side of his waist. Their faces were close, and there was a bead of sweat running down Bucky’s jaw. He wanted to lick it off. ‘Give in?’ He asked instead, a grin as smug as Bucky’s from before plastered across his face.

‘Never, you asshole,’ Bucky laughed, and then his head twitched and he said, ‘Oh, fuck,’ and then he wasn’t Bucky anymore. The Winter Soldier growled in the back of his throat, deep and low, and surged upright, sending Steve stumbling back.

There was suddenly a knife, and Steve really had to remember not to find that ability hot, especially since the knife was being pointed at him. He dodged backwards and then again, staying out of range of the knife swings. ‘Buck? I know you’re in there,’ he said, and then had to duck as a metal fist was swung at his head. ‘Listen to me. You can control this.’

Steve’s heels hit the wall, and he swallowed. ‘Buck, really gonna need you to pull through for me here,’ he said, and then nothing else, because a metal hand was wrapping around his throat and a knife point was resting against his chest.

Steve knew it was fucked-up, but for a moment, all he could think about was the fact that he was finally getting to look into Bucky’s eyes. He’d looked _at_ them, sure, but the last time he’d made real eye contact was when Bucky was falling off a train 70 years ago and that wasn’t really the memory he wanted. Fucked-up or not, getting to look into the cold hard eyes of the Winter Soldier was about as good as it got for him.

Sam would probably have a lot to say about what a Bad Thought that was.

Then the metal hand started to squeeze and okay, this had definitely gone far enough. There was no way he could fight him off – the arm definitely trumped him in this situation – so he had to take a different route. Fight dirty, so to speak.

Steve reached out and rested a hand on the Winter Soldier’s cheek, rubbing a thumb along his cheekbone. ‘Bucky,’ he gasped out. ‘Please.’

The Winter Soldier’s head twitched, eyes unfocusing as the metal hand spasmed. And then Bucky said, ‘Fuck, Steve,’ and dropped both the knife and Steve. ‘Fuck, fucking – I could have hurt you, I could have killed you –’

Steve leaned back against the wall and blinked the stars out of his eyes, rubbing at the red marks on his neck. ‘But you didn’t,’ he said, voice a little hoarse. ‘I told you you could control it.’

Bucky turned back to Steve then, and his eyes narrowed. ‘Did you – do that on purpose? Did you deliberately provoke him out?’

‘I knew you wouldn’t hurt me,’ Steve said, and then winced at the look he was getting. ‘Look, how else was I gonna show you you could do it?’

‘You’re a son of a bitch, Steven Grant,’ Bucky said.

But the next time Steve and Sam went out on a mission, he went along with them.

 

Steve and Bucky fought like two halves of the same whole. Like side by side on the battlefield was where they were meant to be. They didn’t need to talk to work out what to do – they both just moved in ways that complimented the other, knew what the other was going to do before they even did.

Steve flung his shield across the room, running and using a table as a push-off point to knee a Hydra agent up under the chin. Across the room, Bucky caught the shield in his metal hand as it rebounded off a wall and slammed a guy in the chest with it, then deflected a bullet back at the shooter. Then, like it was practiced, he bounced the shield back across the room and into Steve’s hands right as Steve was about to be shot at.

‘I really feel like I’m third-wheeling here,’ Sam said. ‘How am I meant to keep up with two super soldiers?’ But he was doing alright – Sam didn’t need super-soldier serum to be one hell of a fighter.

Steve looked over to make sure he was really doing fine, and then kicked some guy in the stomach. Was that the last of them? He glanced around, and spotted Bucky holding an agent up by his collar.

‘Cut off one head and two more shall take its place! Heil Hydra!’ the Hydra agent said, frantically.

‘Yeah? Heil this,’ Bucky said, and punched the guy in the stomach.

‘Steve, you’re drooling,’ Sam said.

 

‘So, I was thinking,’ Bucky said from the bathtub, covered up by mountains of bubbles. He had a mound of bubbles on top of his head, and his head was tilted back against the headrest.

Steve didn’t even look up from where he was sitting on the bathroom floor, legs crossed, sketching Bucky’s face in profile. ‘Yeah? Don’t strain yourself.’

‘Go to hell. I was thinking – we should go to a baseball game sometime.’

Steve’s pencil stilled, and he looked up. ‘You remember us and baseball?’

‘Yeah, I think so. I remember – hot dogs? And popcorn. And the sun being warm and in our eyes.’

‘We used to go all the time, when we could afford it,’ Steve said. ‘Always had to get the nosebleed seats way up at the back, but we didn’t care. We used to get hot dogs and popcorn and share them and watch the Dodgers play.’

Bucky leaned his head back against the headrest of the bath and smiled. ‘That sounds about right. Any chance there’s a Dodgers game comin’ up soon?’

‘Oh, Buck,’ Steve said, unable to keep the pain out of his voice.

‘What?’

‘Oh, you don’t know. The Dodgers, Buck. They moved to LA in ‘57.’

Bucky took a slow, level, measured breath and said, ‘Who do I gotta kill for that happening?’

 

They ended up going and seeing the NY Yankees play, instead. They both bitched and moaned about it a bit, since was it even really baseball any more without the Dodgers in Brooklyn? But they both knew it wasn’t really the team they were going for, anyway. Steve bought them a couple of hot dogs and some popcorn, and they sat in their nosebleed seats way up the back of the stadium, where the players on the field were nothing but specks.

‘This is terrible. Why didn’t you just buy decent seats, Steve?’ Bucky complained, squinting down at the field.

‘And here I was thinking you’d be grateful just to be here,’ Steve said, taking a bite of his hot dog. ‘Ain’t like I scrimped and saved every last penny for these seats, no sir –’

‘Don’t bullshit me, Rogers – your army backpay means you’re set for _life_.’

Steve laughed and said, ‘Yeah, okay, but I think you’d be the same if you weren’t, y’know, a fugitive from justice and all.’

‘I mean I am technically the longest held POW in US history,’ Bucky said. ‘That’s gotta be worth _something_.’

Down below, the batter struck the first ball, and Steve jabbed Bucky in the ribs playfully. ‘Quit bragging and watch the game.’

 

The Yankees won in the end, and they weren’t really sure whether to be pleased or disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry - as much of a bi disaster as he is, Steve starts getting his shit sorted real soon.


	6. This Above All: To Thine Own Self Be True

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments! I'm glad you're enjoying the fic!
> 
> Also, this chapter features a minor cameo from my _other_ favourite Marvel gay couple - see if you can spot them!

‘Hey, the New York Pride Parade is on this weekend – do you want to go?’

‘What’s that?’ Bucky asked curiously from the other end of the couch, and Steve was suddenly reminded that, oh yeah, they were both from the 40s when being queer was a death sentence. Bucky had never said anything homophobic, even then, but still – how would he take Pride?

‘Uh – well, nowadays it’s alright for folks to be queer,’ Steve said. ‘They can get married and everythin’.’

‘For real?’ Bucky said, and for a moment he had an odd look on his face that Steve couldn’t quite place. Wistful, or melancholic, or something. ‘And people let ‘em?’

‘Well, some people don’t like it – like for religious reasons, or because they’re dicks. But most people don’t mind it these days – it ain’t anything out of the ordinary. The NY Pride Parade’s this big event where everyone gets together and celebrates the fact that it ain’t illegal anymore.’

‘Huh,’ Bucky said, and the moments before he said anything else were some of the most anxious of Steve’s life. ‘That’s real good. Sure, why not?’

 

In the days leading up to the Pride Parade, Bucky got progressively moodier. At first Steve thought he was just having a run of bad days, and then he thought it might be because of all the people that were going to be there, but neither of those felt right. The morning of the parade, Steve woke to Bucky already sat up in bed, looking down at him with an unreadable expression.

For a moment he worried it was the Winter Soldier – but no, those were definitely the frown lines of Bucky Barnes. Steve rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and propped himself up on his elbow, saying, ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Who says anything’s wrong?’ Bucky’s voice sounded off, too flat.

‘Uh – everything about you right now.’ Steve frowned and then continued, ‘We don’t have to go today if you don’t want to – if that many people being around freaks you out.’ Something else occurred to him then, and he swallowed and said, ‘Or if you’ve gotta problem with queers, too, we don’t have to –’

‘I don’t gotta problem with queers, Steve, Jesus,’ Bucky said, looking disgusted. ‘I’m gonna – I’m gonna go take a shower.’

It turned out to be a long shower – Bucky was in there for long enough that Steve was done with breakfast by the time he emerged, towel-drying his hair.

‘Feeling any better?’ Steve said, setting down a plate of pancakes with bacon and blueberries as a peace offering.

Bucky flashed him a small smile and said, ‘I guess. Uh – Steve, doll, there’s something I gotta tell you.’

‘You know you can tell me anything, right?’ Steve said, sitting down opposite. ‘It ain’t like there’s a lot I don’t know about you, though.’ He tried to shove a foot under Bucky’s under the table, but Bucky pulled his foot away.

Oh shit. Okay, that put the situation at a considerably higher danger rating.

The last time Bucky hadn’t let him touch him was when he was working up to tell him he’d joined the army.

‘Buck?’ Steve said, and watched Bucky push a blueberry around, and tried not to panic. ‘What is it?’

‘Uh – okay, Steve, it’s like this.’ Bucky stared very hard at the blueberry and said, ‘I think I might be queer.’

‘Oh. Okay,’ Steve said, and on the list of all the things he’d been imagining Bucky was about to say that hadn’t even been an option.

‘And I don’t want things to change, but you’re my best friend, and since I ain’t gonna get killed for it I wanted to tell you.’ Bucky wasn’t making eye contact, but Steve got the feeling that this time it was for a reason other than Hydra programming. ‘Are you – are you mad?’

‘What?’ That question was what snapped Steve out of his daze. ‘Mad? Are you kidding me? I’m so proud you felt like you could tell me.’ Bucky was waving him off but his cheeks were a little pink and Steve couldn’t be happier for him. ‘So, uh, the girls? Back in the 40s?’ He didn’t mean to pry, he really didn’t – but he did want to know.

‘That’s why I said I think. I don’t know, Steve, I mean I like dames but I also think I like fellas. Is that allowed?’

‘Yeah, Buck. It’s called bisexuality. I think you’re bisexual.’ The word almost got stuck in his throat when he said it, just thinking about the secret he was keeping. _Just say me too, Rogers._ He could hear Sam’s voice in his head. _Tell him how you feel_.

It felt like a lump in the back of his throat, like the words were stuck there – he couldn’t say them, but he couldn’t swallow them back down. _I’m bisexual too._ Three words. Should be easy-peasy. Bucky said it; why couldn’t he?

But he couldn’t get them out.

Instead, he just ate a mouthful of pancakes and watched Bucky turn the word ‘bisexual’ over in his mouth, and smiled at his best friend so wide his cheeks hurt, and shoved his foot under Bucky’s.

This time, Bucky let him.

 

**Steve  
**               So, uh. Bucky just came out to me as bisexual.

               **Sam  
               **the next text you send me better say you said ‘same’ and kissed him

               **Steve**  
               I told him I was proud of him for telling me.  
               But I didn’t tell him about me.  
               I don’t know, it’s dumb but it’s just hard to get the words out.

               **Sam**  
               s t e v e

 

The Pride Parade was huge and loud and chaotic and Bucky looked like he was having the time of his life. Oh, he looked kinda nervous, sure. This many people around was bound to set him on edge. But ever since coming out to Steve, he’d looked – lighter, somehow. Like there was one less thing weighing him down.

People all around were holding hands, and so no one was looking twice at him and Bucky doing it (except maybe to check them out, which Steve was kinda flattered by). ‘You want a flag or something?’ Steve leaned in close to Bucky’s ear to ask, and Bucky turned questioning eyes on him.

‘A what?’

‘A flag.’ He gestured at the stall nearby selling everything from flags to pins to backpacks in various pride colour combinations. ‘You got different colour combinations for different sexualities. Bisexual’s pink, purple, blue.’ God, and he really hoped Bucky didn’t ask how he knew so much about bisexuality.

But Bucky just led the way over to the stall, picking up one of the small-size bisexual flags. ‘Could I get this?’ He asked Steve, with a smile so hopeful Steve couldn’t possibly say no.

‘Course, Buck,’ he said, forking over a twenty and waving off the attempt to hand him his change.

Bucky looked so pleased with the flag, so comfortable in his own skin, that Steve had to take a moment just to admire him. From behind the stall, one of the girls running it leaned over and said, ‘Hope you don’t mind me saying, but your boyfriend’s super cute.’

‘He’s not my –’ Steve started to say, and then decided fuck it. It was all he really wanted – why not live the lie for a little while? He flashed the girl a smile and said, ‘Thanks. I know.’

 

**Karolina**  
               babe  
               babe  
               babe babe babe  
               I think I just saw Captain America here

               **Nico**  
               oh cool  
               he’s probably here to show support or something

               **Karolina  
               **babe he was here with another guy

               **Nico**  
               i’m pretty sure Cap’s straight, he’s a dude from the 40s  
               probably just a friend?

               **Karolina**  
               no you don’t understand  
               Cap was HOLDING his HAND  
               and he bought a bi pride flag for him  
               and I told him that his boyfriend was cute  
               and geT THIS  
               HE SAID I KNOW

               **Nico**  
               WAIT WTF  
               you’re sure it was Cap

               **Karolina**  
               he was wearing a baseball cap but if it was a disguise it was the worst one ever

 

Steve had upgraded from holding Bucky’s hand to slipping an arm around his waist – even with this many eyes around, it was easy to justify. Wouldn’t want to get separated, after all. Bucky didn’t seem to be complaining, either way.

He just looked fascinated by the crowd around him – all the different people. For the first time since he’d come home, Bucky wasn’t looking at every single person he saw like he thought they might try to kill him. It made a pleasant change, and Steve couldn’t be happier for him.

Then up ahead, he spotted the television cameras and groaned. Maybe they could just about-turn – try avoid them – but the reporter had already spotted him, and her eyes had lit up. Of course. Captain America at the NY Pride Parade. What a scoop.

Steve slid his arm back out from around Bucky, pulling off his baseball cap and putting it on him. Couldn’t have Cap looking cosy with another man, after all. ‘I’m about to get harassed for five minutes, okay?’ he said. ‘Be back as soon as I can.’

‘Go be famous,’ Bucky said with a smile, waving the flag at him, and Steve laughed and moved to head off the reporter before she got closer and spotted the Winter Soldier at Pride.

Shit, wouldn’t _that_ be a damn story.

‘Captain America!’ Steve just blinked stoically as a microphone and camera were shoved in his face. ‘You’re attending the NY Pride Parade.’

‘Sure am, ma’am.’

‘Any comments on why you’re here?’

‘I’m here today to show my support for the LGBTQ+ community,’ Steve said with a smile. ‘Plus it’s an incredible event – why wouldn’t want to be here?’

‘So no reasons other than that – nothing you want to tell our viewers…?’ The reporter was clearly fishing for a scoop.

Steve just laughed, and smiled real big and wide and sincere, and said, ‘No, I’m definitely attracted to women.’ Even though it wasn’t technically a lie, the words still tasted bitter in his mouth.

The reporter definitely looked like she had other questions she wanted to ask – no doubt he’d made her entire day, if not her career – but Steve was saved, of all people, by Tony Stark.

More accurately, by Tony Stark rocketing overhead in a rainbow-coloured Iron Man suit, scattering glitter as he went.

The camera and microphone were quickly diverted – after all, Iron Man had always been a more interesting Avenger than Captain America – and Steve took the opportunity to duck away. He spotted Bucky leaning against back a wall a little ways away, and leaned his shoulder against it next to him, facing him. ‘Never thought I’d say it, but thank god for Tony Stark,’ Steve said, stealing his baseball cap back.

‘He sure knows how to make an entrance, huh,’ Bucky said, looking up at where the Iron Man suit was now projecting a huge rainbow above the entire parade. ‘Does he do this every year?’

‘He says he’s done it every year since some asshole told him to keep politics out of being a hero,’ Steve said with a grin.

Bucky just smiled, still looking up at the sky. He had a smudge of glitter across his cheek, and Steve wanted to reach out and rub it off with a thumb. But – that was too intimate for out in public. Arms around the waist was one thing, when they were moving and less likely to be recognised, but that – Steve couldn’t run the risk of looking so familiar with another man.

And he hated himself for thinking like that. For hiding who he was. What the fuck was he so scared of, anyway? He was at a parade celebrating people like him and Bucky, but he just couldn’t – couldn’t do it.

Steve was staring. He covered it up by glancing around and then saying, ‘You wanna go find some food?’

Bucky nodded, and Steve slipped an arm back around his waist as they got lost in the crowd again.

 

               **Karolina**  
               I TOLD YOU HE WAS HERE

               **Nico**  
               yeah but he wasn’t there with a guy in his interview  
               plus he said he was straight  
               don’t get me wrong i’m gutted too i wanted Cap representation

               **Karolina**  
               he said he liked women  
               which is different than being straight

 

It was late by the time Steve and Bucky got back to the Tower. ‘I think that was the most glitter I ever saw in my life,’ Bucky laughed in the elevator, scrubbing his scalp and watching the glitter fall. Steve hadn’t fared much better – that solitary smudge on Bucky’s cheek had been just the beginning. He dusted off his shirt, and watched the sparkling cloud go everywhere.

By the time they hopped out of the elevator, it looked like it’d been glitter-bombed, but at least they were a little less sparkly. ‘Whoever gets in next ain’t gonna be happy,’ Steve said, and laughed, and Bucky laughed too.

Bucky was still holding onto his little flag, and Steve said, ‘You want to put that somewhere?’ He dug through the kitchen cupboards, pulling out a vase and proffering it to Bucky. Bucky put the flag in, and Steve set the vase on the counter – out of the way, but still in plain sight. Then he leaned forward against the counter, smiling at Bucky on the other side. ‘So. Thoughts on today?’

‘Uh – ‘wow’ is probably my go-to,’ he replied, pulling up a stool and smiling back. ‘It was fun, Steve. Thanks for taking me.’

‘Thanks for telling me who you are,’ Steve said. ‘Even if most folks don’t think it’s a big deal any more, I know it can be hard to say.’ _Christ, didn’t he just._

Bucky rested an elbow on the counter and put his chin on his hand. ‘You big sap, I don’t know why I ever worried,’ he laughed. ‘Shoulda known you’d be all noble and accepting.’ Steve snorted. ‘I don’t know, it was weird though. Like I couldn’t stop looking around and thinking about how back in the 40s, everyone there woulda been scared for their lives, y’know? And instead now they get to live how they want to. Kinda nice, though.’

And like that, something clicked in Steve’s head. _Oh. Right._ Here he was pretending to be Captain America, being a hero, working himself up into a fit state about how he was a queer every time he looked in the mirror – and what the hell was he scared of?

Looking at Bucky, all he could think was that something that made him this happy couldn’t be that bad. He’d been punishing himself for years for this, for wanting Bucky – let it eat him up inside until it felt like there was nothing of him left. Let himself look in the mirror and see nothing but a _queer_ looking back, let himself cover up who he was like it was something to be ashamed of –

But looking at Bucky right now, Bucky with glitter across his cheeks like freckles or stars in the sky, with his hair tucked back behind his ears, with a grin wide across his face – Steve realised there was nothing wrong with loving this man this way. Christ, he’d wasted so many years agonising about being wrong, worrying that the serum hadn’t been perfect because it hadn’t fixed him. But there’d never been anything to fix.

He’d thought he’d left the 40s behind, but he’d been carrying it around in his head all along. And who gave a flying fuck what people back then thought?

Steve didn’t say any of that out loud. Instead, he just smiled and said, ‘Yeah, it’s real nice people don’t have to hide out anymore – get to live free, the way they oughta. I think everyone should get to do that.’ Something in his chest felt lighter – like he’d finally let go of a weight he’d been carting round for close on a century now.

He straightened up and added, ‘You want a drink? I could make up my ma’s Irish coffee – do you remember that?’

Bucky shook his head, and then paused, ‘No – well – maybe. I think I remember she made it hideous strong.’

Steve laughed and said, ‘So do I.’

He set the coffee maker going and dug around under the sink, finally producing a bottle of Irish whiskey. ‘Steve Rogers, look at you,’ Bucky said with a grin and a whistle as Steve set it down on the bench. ‘Not as straight-laced as everyone thinks, huh?’

Steve laughed, undoing the top to crack the seal. ‘Ain’t like I ever opened it,’ he said. ‘Not really much point in me drinking, normally, since I can’t get drunk.’

‘Neither can I, pal,’ Bucky said, and snagged the bottle to take a swig. ‘Whatever Hydra did – knock-off version of your stuff – seems to work about the same for that at least.’

Steve’s smile faded a little at that, as he watched Bucky Barnes sit at his kitchen counter, Hydra poison in his veins, hard liquor in his metal hand and on his lips. Bucky Barnes, who never should have been through this.

‘I know that look – quit gettin’ all misty-eyed on me,’ Bucky said, and handed him the bottle back. ‘We made it through, and we’re here in the future, and you’re making me a drink. But first you gotta have a swig too – it’s the rules.’

Steve snorted and said, ‘Right, of course,’ but took a swig anyway.

God, the last time he’d had this stuff had been in the 40s. It had been in the 40s, in that bar in England, the day Bucky died. Steve glanced across the counter to see a grinning Bucky looking back.

Steve grinned back. Well, they both seemed to be doing pretty okay for dead men walking.

The coffee maker beeped, and Steve set the bottle down and started on the drinks. Generous amount of coffee in each glass – a heaped spoonful of sugar – hideous amount of the Irish whiskey. ‘I ain’t gonna do the cream on top,’ he said as he set their drinks down, ‘because my ma couldn’t afford it and I feel she’d be turning in her grave if she knew I was gettin’ all high and mighty now just because it’s the future.’

‘Oh yeah, I’m sure that’s what she’d be gettin’ hung up on right now,’ Bucky said and laughed, taking a sip. ‘Oh, this is _good_ , Rogers.’

‘We used to drink this all the time,’ Steve said. ‘Course, back then I couldn’t have a lot since I was tiny. One glass used to knock me out.’

‘It tastes – familiar,’ Bucky said. And then he grinned and said, ‘I remember you being a lightweight, though.’ He glanced sidelong at the bottle of whiskey then, and got that look in his eye that Steve always recognised as trouble brewing. ‘Wanna see if we really can’t get drunk?’

 

It was much later in the evening, and the bottle of whiskey was all but gone. Steve definitely wasn’t drunk, but he felt kinda warm somewhere in his chest. Bucky wasn’t drunk either, and was more than a bit morose about it. ‘Can’t believe Hydra took away my ability to drink away my troubles,’ he said, pouting like anything as he frowned at the last few drops left in the bottle.

‘It’s probably a good thing. Drinking too much is bad for you,’ Steve said, snagging the bottle and finishing it off. ‘Ain’t like you got troubles to drink away, anyway.’

‘What, are you kidding? I gotta put with you.’

It was comfortably quiet then for a while, and Steve put the dishes in the sink for the morning – the empty whiskey bottle, he set down next to the pride flag. Like a memento. Then he was back leaning against the bench, looking at Bucky with a smile.

‘What?’ Bucky said. ‘You keep looking at me like that, Rogers, I’ll start to think you’re sweet on me.’

Steve laughed, even though that hit uncomfortably close to the truth. ‘No, it’s just, uh – I have something important to tell you,’ he said, a little more serious, and already this didn’t feel like the other times. There wasn’t that bile in the back of his throat – it felt more like silver dripping from his tongue. Like he could say the word _bisexual_ all damn day.

Bucky got a little more serious too, and leaned forward. ‘What is it, Steve?’ He asked, eyes searching Steve’s face.

Steve leaned on his forearms on the bench, so their faces were closer to lined up. ‘It’s not a big deal,’ he said. ‘This morning, when you came out to me, I didn’t say anything at the time because I was still working through some stuff, but I think I finally managed to get my head on straight.’ _Ha, straight. Wrong choice of words._ He huffed a half-laugh at the worry on Bucky’s face, and continued, ‘Don’t look so worried, Barnes. Just wanted to tell you that I’m bisexual too.’

‘Oh,’ Bucky said, and then, ‘Okay,’ and it felt like a reversal of that morning. Pride flag no longer for one, but both of them. ‘How long have you known?’

‘A while now,’ Steve said, because he couldn’t exactly say _ever since I realised I was in love with you_. ‘Feels like I’ve been punishin’ myself for it my whole life. Then I woke up in the future, and they told me it was okay for people to be queer. But it took me til now to realise that I could stop hating myself for being who I am.’ He smiled over at Bucky, both of them finally so comfortable in their own skins, and added, ‘How about you?’

‘Way back. Before the war,’ Bucky said. ‘But I was always too busy looking after your punk ass to worry about whether bein’ queer was right or wrong.’ He paused and licked his lips to wet them – Steve unconsciously mirroring the gesture. Then Bucky asked, ‘What made you realise it was okay?’ in a soft voice, like he already knew the answer.

Their faces were close, and Steve could still taste hard Irish whiskey on his lips. Even though he was very far from drunk, it was all the courage he needed. ‘Take a guess,’ he said, equally softly, lifting a hand to thread fingers through Bucky’s hair and curl around the back of his neck. Gently, gently, he brought their faces together, pressing his forehead against Bucky’s – giving him every chance to back out if he wanted to.

Bucky was staring at him, wide-eyed, like he was seeing him for the first time ever, and with a jolt, Steve realised he was making eye contact. Oh, and Steve had forgotten just how goddamn blue his eyes were. The harsh frosted stare of the Winter Soldier had nothing on Bucky’s baby blues. ‘Steve,’ Bucky said, not a question, not a demand, just a word carrying so much emotion behind it, and Steve smiled softly.

‘It’s the future now, Buck. Haven’t you heard? We get to do whatever the hell we want to.’

Bucky half-laughed and then pressed forward as Steve did the same and then they were kissing, finally, the way Steve had always imagined and _Christ_ this was so much better than anything he could have ever thought up. Bucky’s lips were soft and tasted like coffee and whiskey and even at a weird angle this was still the best damn kiss he’d ever had.

They pulled apart real slow, lingering in one another’s space, and Steve knew he probably had the stupidest grin in the world on his face but he couldn’t bring himself to care. This was it. The final secret – the last thing he’d been holding onto for all these years. ‘I love you,’ he said into the quiet. ‘I’ve loved you since we were eight years old and you socked some kid in the jaw for pickin’ on me.’

Bucky grinned too, laughed and said, ‘Yeah? Not to brag or nothing, but I’ve loved _you_ since we were six and I saw you punch a kid for saying somethin’ rude to a girl.’

Steve let out a soft groan. ‘Oh, I can’t believe you’ve got me beat by two years,’ he said, and then laughed, delirious, because Bucky Barnes loved him and they were in the future and they had all the time in the world. All the time in the world.

‘I love you so goddamn much, Stevie,’ Bucky said, like he couldn’t keep the words in, like he had to say it over and over and over again until the whole world knew.

Steve knew something about that.

‘I love you too, Buck, Christ, sometimes I think my heart’s gonna burst from it –’ Steve leaned forward and kissed him again, and again, who gave a shit about awkward angles, and Bucky nipped at his lower lip and Steve opened his mouth and they didn’t pull apart until Steve had to break the kiss to pant for air.

Bucky’s hair was all mussed up, and his lips were even redder than usual, and Steve thought he might be the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen in his entire life. Steve wanted to tell him that, wanted to tell Bucky over and over just what a goddamn looker he was, did he know he was the best-looking guy on the whole fuckin’ planet, but then Bucky’s lips were at his neck and Steve’s mind turned into a radio tuned to static.

‘Oh, shit,’ he said, as Bucky bit down a little at the point where his jaw met his neck, breath catching in a way it hadn’t since his last asthma attack nearly 70 years ago. He could feel Bucky grin against his neck, the asshole, and then there was hot breath and teeth moving down his neck, and then Steve let out a sorta undignified squawk as fingers hooked his shirt collar down and teeth grazed his collarbone.

Bucky pulled back with a self-satisfied grin and said, ‘Oh, sorry, do you want me to stop?’

‘You asshole,’ said Steve, and pulled him back in for a kiss. When they pulled apart again, Steve was most of the way across the countertop and Bucky was standing, and Steve was trying to be respectful and gentleman-like and all but he also really, really wanted to grab Bucky’s ass. He snuck a hand around and slid it down Bucky’s back, winding up with a handful of the best ass in New York City, and Bucky snorted.

‘Doesn’t the world think you’re a blushin’ virgin?’ He said, leaning in and pressing a brief kiss to Steve’s lips. ‘Come to bed, Steve.’

Steve reluctantly let go of Bucky, pushing himself up off the counter and sliding over to end up on the same side as him. Without prompting, Bucky practically climbed him – legs around his waist, arms slung loosely across his shoulder and around his neck. ‘You’re a terrible influence,’ Steve told him seriously, hands holding onto his thighs, and Bucky dropped his head back and laughed.

The long pale line of his neck was just begging for some colour, and Steve leaned in, marking out a constellation of pink spots across Bucky’s skin. ‘Christ, Steve,’ Bucky blew out a shaky breath, and now it was Steve’s turn to grin against his neck like an asshole as he bit down, tongue darting out just a little to run over soft skin.

Bucky ground his hips against him a little, searching for a little friction, and then said, ‘Steve, doll, we were headed for the bedroom.’

Steve pulled back and said, ‘Oh, sorry, do you want me to stop?’ with a shit-eating grin.

‘You _asshole_ ,’ Bucky said, but he was grinning too, and Steve stood up straight from where he’d been leaning on the counter and headed for the bedroom.

He lay Bucky down on the bed, crawling up over the top of him and kneeling over him. Bucky leaned up to kiss him and then it got more frantic, kiss dirty and rough as Bucky slid his hand up under Steve’s shirt. ‘You gotta get this shirt off, Steve,’ Bucky murmured against his lips, ‘Get it off right fucking now.’

‘You trying to give a senior officer an order?’ Steve said, voice low, and enjoyed the way Bucky’s eyes got a little darker at that. But he pulled back a little, letting Bucky get his fingers on the hem and pull it up over his head.

‘Christ,’ Bucky said, and ran reverent hands up Steve’s chest. ‘I’ve been dreamin’ of getting to touch you for nearly a century, Steve.’ And Steve felt himself becoming a little less frantic at that – they’d both waited nearly a century for this, they could afford to take their time.

‘Me too, Buck,’ he said, pressing gentle kisses to the corner of Bucky’s mouth. ‘C’mon, you gotta get your shirt off too now. Only fair.’ Bucky looked hesitant at that, something tightening in his jaw, and Steve pulled back. ‘Hey,’ he said softly, smoothing a gentle thumb down a cheekbone. ‘I don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t want to. Do you wanna tell me what’s wrong?’

‘I –’ Bucky started, and then stopped, and Steve thought he hadn’t seen him look so vulnerable in a very very long time. ‘I don’t look the way I used to under here, Steve.’

‘And you think that’s going to bother me,’ Steve said, flatly. ‘Christ, Buck, I ain’t – I just want you. As you are.’ He tipped his head sideways, pressing his lips against Bucky’s cheek. ‘You don’t gotta take your shirt off to do this if you don’t wanna,’ he said. ‘I might be inexperienced but even I know that.’

Bucky huffed a laugh, tipping his head to the side to meet Steve’s lips. ‘As I am?’ He said, tone questioning, like there was ever any doubt.

‘As you are.’

Bucky swallowed, and then pulled back and pulled his shirt up over his head. Steve sat up, giving him space, because _Christ_ , that was a lot of scars. ‘Sorry, Stevie, I know I ain’t pretty under here no more –’ Bucky started, eyes down, and Steve scoffed.

‘Shut your mouth, Barnes, you’re the best damn looking guy I ever saw.’ Steve leaned forward, pressing a delicate kiss to the side of Bucky’s neck, and then worked his way down. Bucky’s chest was a map of scars and Steve followed every direction, worshipped every divot and angle with his tongue and teeth and lips. He finally got his teeth on Bucky’s hipbones, too, still prominent even with the weight gain, and lapping his tongue across one felt like the closest he’d ever been to heaven.

Bucky’s right hand tightened in his hair as Steve ran a tongue over a nipple, and he let out a soft groan. ‘You can use your left hand, if you want,’ Steve said, pulling back a little. ‘I trust you.’ Bucky swallowed but slowly lifted his left hand, trailing metal fingers down Steve’s cheek and resting his thumb on his bottom lip.

Steve smiled and licked the metal thumb, sucking it in and sucking on it, lips hot and red around the cool metal, and Bucky groaned. ‘Christ that’s hot, Stevie, I think we’re both fucked up.’

Steve pulled away and laughed, leaning forward to kiss him again. ‘I gotta tell you, I’ve never actually – uh – done this before with another guy. So you’re going to have to bear with while I work it out,’ he said, and then snaked a hand down to rest on top of Bucky’s crotch.

‘Oh, shit,’ Bucky said, voice catching, and then, ‘You’re getting top marks for enthusiasm already, pal, I ain’t gonna argue.’

 

There was a bead of sweat on Bucky’s jawline, just the way there had been that day in the gym. This time, Steve leaned in and licked it off. ‘I love you,’ he said, nose pressed to Bucky’s cheek. Bucky half-laughed, turned his head to face Steve.

‘I love you too, Stevie,’ he said, looking Steve in the eye. Steve kissed him, and then kissed him again, content in the heady knowledge that Bucky was all his.

 

**Steve**  
               Told Bucky I’m bisexual.

               **Sam**  
               and did you tell him youre in love with him???

               **Steve**  
               We’re in the same bed right now.

               **Sam**  
               yeah but you guys sleep in the same bed anyway  
               is it in the same bed like normal or in the same bed like sex  
               steve  
               steve please im so invested in your tragic love story

               **Steve**  
               ;)

 

When he woke the next morning, Bucky was sprawled across his chest. He was still fast asleep, but his face was towards Steve and he looked peaceful in the soft morning light.

He was reminded of that first night Bucky had slept in his bed again, the first morning when he’d woken up just like this and thought that maybe, maybe, things could be good again.

That first morning Steve had wanted to touch Bucky’s hair, trace his face with his fingers. But he hadn’t. A step too far, he’d called it.

Now, though, Steve could do whatever he wanted. He reached out, running soft fingers through his hair, gently pushing it back from Bucky’s face. In sleep, the worry lines were gone from his forehead and Steve reverently smoothed a thumb between his eyebrows, like he could make it so the worry never came back.

And then Steve tipped his head back onto the pillow and looked up at the ceiling and smiled, ever-so-slightly.

 

_‘Captain Rogers, you have a visitor,’_ Jarvis said, as Steve was cooking Bucky an omelette. Bucky was sitting on the counter beside him again, feet running up and down Steve’s legs, one hand resting lightly on Steve’s forearm.

‘Who is it?’

_‘Samuel Wilson, Captain.’_

‘Sure, send him up.’

Steve slid the omelette onto a plate, setting it down on the counter. ‘You might have to move if you want to eat that,’ he said, turning to face Bucky.

Bucky just smiled, hanging his arms over Steve’s shoulders. ‘I think it can wait,’ he said, leaning in to kiss Steve.

Just then, the elevator doors slid open and Sam stepped out. It took him all of about a second to take everything in – Steve and Bucky kissing, the fact that they were both shirtless, the red marks haphazardly across their chests and necks (fading quickly on Steve, but not so much on Bucky).

‘No. Nope. I’m real happy for you guys, but I can’t take this this early in the morning,’ he said, about-turning and going straight back into the elevator. ‘I’m going to go see Nat so I can scream.’

Steve pulled back and laughed and laughed and laughed, his head dropping to rest against Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky’s hand rested on the back of his neck, and Steve felt completely sure that right here with Bucky Barnes was where he was meant to be for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Shakespeare.


	7. Every Day Above Earth Is a Good Day

They had nothing to do the next day, and so they went to Washington DC. There was the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian to visit, after all, and someone they needed to talk to.

Steve had a baseball cap pulled on, and just like last time he was here, that seemed to be enough to disguise him. After all, even with his face plastered all over the walls, no one was really looking for Steve Rogers. The only way he’d get recognised would be if he put on that uniform and helmet and hoisted up the shield.

Speaking of the uniform – Steve was pleased to see it had been returned to the line-up of mannequins, a little worse for wear (and with a few new patches) but otherwise perfectly fine. He came to a halt in front of the set of seven mannequins, leaning in Bucky’s side. ‘You remember your uniform?’ he asked, voice low and soft.

‘Yeah,’ Bucky said, hand tightening around Steve’s. ‘Much more sensible in battle than that walkin’ US flag you called clothes.’

Steve snorted. ‘You know, I remember this time in a bar in London, this one guy seemed real eager to make sure I was keeping that costume…’ He nudged Bucky with his elbow. ‘You sure seemed to like it then.’

‘It made your ass look good,’ Bucky admitted with a grin, pulling Steve further into the exhibit. ‘C’mon.’

One of the stands explained how Steve Rogers spent his childhood and teens trying to stay out of trouble, and Bucky stabbed at the line ‘bullied into fights’ aggressively. ‘Steve. Steve, this is so wrong,’ he said, and Steve just laughed.

Then there was the stand dedicated entirely to Bucky Barnes, and Bucky froze beside him. ‘Buck? You alright? We can go if you wanna, if it’s too much –’

‘I’m okay, Stevie, really. It’s just – still a bit weird, sometimes,’ he said, and pulled Steve forward to read his own history. ‘I’m gonna try point out what’s wrong and you tell me the truth, okay?’

‘Sure, Buck.’ Steve was a little paranoid that having Bucky stand right next to a big picture of his own face might be too much, that this might be what finally got them caught – but no one was giving them a second look. The longer hair seemed to be working just as well as the hat. Steve caught a strand of Bucky’s hair, tucking it back behind his ear and leaning in to press a soft kiss to his temple. ‘Anything stand out so far?’

‘I’m pretty sure I did have three sisters,’ Bucky said. ‘Becca, Dot, and Beth. Right?’

‘Yep.’

Bucky swallowed then and said, ‘So, uh, do you know what…’

‘I’m sorry, Buck,’ Steve said, and wrapped an arm tight around his waist. ‘I looked ‘em up when I woke up, and… they ain’t around no more.’

Bucky nodded, jaw tight. ‘I think I kinda knew that,’ he said, but still got misty-eyed; Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s temple again and stayed there, giving him time to grieve. After a minute Bucky took a deep breath and said, ‘Okay, I’m okay. I’m alright.’

Steve pulled back and smiled, a little misty-eyed too. Becca, Dot, and Beth. 26, 20, and 17 when Bucky fell and Steve went into the ice. He was always gonna remember them as the girls trailing after him and Bucky, and maybe that’s the way they oughta be remembered.

‘Um… okay. So three sisters,’ Bucky said, finding where he’d left off. ‘That’s true. But saying we met on the playground is definitely stretching it, since the first time I saw you was when you were punchin’ some jerk.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And I didn’t enlist in the army.’

‘You – what?’ Steve said, turning to look to him. ‘Buck, you were _in_ the army.’

‘Yeah, I know that, dumbass. But I didn’t enlist. I – I’m pretty sure I was conscripted.’

Steve blinked. ‘You told me you enlisted, back when you were shipping out.’

Bucky frowned slightly, look past Steve to somewhere in the distance as his lips worked silently for a moment, like he was trying to find the right memory. ‘Steve, after you got rejected the first couple’a times – there was no way I was gonna leave you. I told myself the only way I was joining the army was if you were too, so’s I could look after you.’

Steve took a slow, shaky breath, feeling a little like he’d just been punched in the gut. Bucky had never wanted to fight. Bucky had never wanted to leave him. ‘I’m sorry, Buck,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry you got made to go, I’m sorry I acted so jealous of it, I’m sorry for being bitter –’

‘Christ, Stevie, you’re apologisin’ more than me,’ Bucky said, and pulled him into a hug. ‘Everything worked out in the end. We’re here.’

Steve hugged him back real tight, burying his face in Bucky’s shoulder.

Then a lady cleared her throat behind them, and Steve suddenly realised they were blocking the exhibit. ‘Sorry, ma’am,’ he said with a sheepish grin as he pulled back from the hug. ‘My buddy here just gets real emotional over Captain America.’ That earnt him a smack on the arm from Bucky, but it was worth it.

The film room was the last part of the exhibit – just running on loop black and white films that’d been unearthed from back in the war. Steve and Bucky slid onto the bench at the back, Steve slipping an arm around Bucky’s waist and pulling him in close. Bucky seemed utterly engrossed with what was on-screen, jaw nearly hanging open at the sight of Steve on screen. When the shot of him and Steve standing side by side – laughing at some dumb joke Steve had just told – rolled around, Bucky turned and looked at him with a soft look in his eyes.

‘What?’ Steve said with a smile.

‘Nothing,’ Bucky said, and leaned in to kiss him. ‘Just thinkin’ that it’s real good to finally get to kiss your dumb mug.’

Apparently kissing in the Captain America exhibit was frowned on, since they were getting no less than three disapproving looks by the time they pulled apart. ‘Wanna get out of here?’ Steve asked, and Bucky grinned.

‘Thought you’d never ask.’

Steve, feeling daring, flipped a mock salute and a grin to one of the people who’d been frowning at them, and saw the look on his face change from disapproval to shock. _Cap?_ Steve saw the guy’s mouth form the word, but by then he was already out of the exhibit and back alongside Bucky.

 

They ate lunch side by side on the steps in front of the Lincoln Memorial, shoulders pressed together. ‘How’d you even know what doner kebabs are, anyway?’ Steve asked, taking another bite.

Bucky just shrugged. ‘Dunno. Just one of those things that’s in my head.’

 

After lunch, they had someone to visit.

 ‘Buck, look – Peg’s not the way she used to be, okay,’ Steve said, stopping outside the door to her room at the nursing home. ‘She’s got – what do they call it now – Alzheimer’s. Means she sometimes doesn’t remember things too well.’

‘Neither do I,’ Bucky said, and squared his shoulders a little. ‘It’s fine, Steve, I can take it.’

But as it turned out, Peggy was having one of her good days.

‘Steve, oh, it’s always so lovely to have you visit!’ She said with a bright smile, sitting up in bed. ‘I’ve been missing you so since you went back to New York.’

‘Hey Peg.’ Steve went in for a careful hug, and then sat down beside her. Bucky hung back by the door, looking a little apprehensive still. Like he wasn’t sure how he’d be received. ‘Course I’m visiting – I ain’t gonna leave my best girl.’

‘You’re starting to talk more like you used to,’ she said, and then glanced across the room – spotting Bucky. ‘And you brought a friend?’

Steve watched Bucky swallow nervously, stepping closer and smiling. ‘Hiya, Peggy,’ he said, tucking his hair back behind his ears.

‘Christ alive,’ Peggy said in her crisp English accent. _‘Bucky Barnes?’_

‘Yeah, it’s me. Mostly,’ he said, sitting down beside Steve and laying his right hand over Peggy’s on the covers.

‘Oh my,’ she said, and then fixed Steve with a steely gaze. ‘You didn’t tell me he was alive too.’

‘Recent development,’ Steve said. ‘Big drama with Hydra.’

Peggy looked back over at Bucky and then caught a glimpse of his metal hand, before he tucked it away in his pocket. ‘Oh,’ she said. _‘Oh.’_ She turned her hand over, and squeezed Bucky’s flesh hand as hard as she was able. ‘Well, Sergeant, it certainly is good to see you again alive and well.’

‘It’s nice to finally be that way.’

‘I must say, Steve has been an utter wreck without you,’ she said, and Steve groaned. ‘Moping all over the place back then and even after he woke up. Two bloody years I’ve had to put up with it.’

‘Oh, really?’ Bucky said, and then turned and grinned at Steve. ‘A wreck?’

‘Absolutely useless,’ Peggy clarified, also grinning. ‘Hopefully you’ll be able to sort him out.’

Steve planted an elbow on the bed and covered his face with his hand. ‘You’re both awful,’ he said, muffled through his fingers. ‘I don’t deserve this.’

But he was grinning – and as Bucky took his other hand and squeezed, and Peggy just looked down at their clasped hands, looked back up at the two of the them, and smiled – he grinned a little wider.

 

‘I’m happy for you, Steve,’ Peggy said in his ear, later, as the two were about to leave. Steve pulled back from the hug and smiled at her, and she continued, ‘I think we both know he was always your first choice.’

Steve would always feel a sense of a life lost when he looked at Peggy – a normal life, an ordinary life. A life with a wife and 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. What could have been.

But then, Steve had never really been cut out for a normal life. ‘You’re always going to be my best girl,’ he said, and leaned in to kiss her forehead. ‘I’ll try come back and visit again soon, alright? We both will.’

‘Bye Peggy,’ Bucky said, and waved. Steve caught his hand, and turned to wave too.

‘See ya, Peg.’

‘You two stay out of trouble, you hear me?’ She said, and then laughed. ‘Christ, could you imagine? Just stay safe, both of you.’

The sound of laughter followed them out into the hallway, and Steve felt lighter. He always did, when he saw Peggy on one of her good days, but this time more so. He should have known Peggy would be happy for them.

Bucky was giving him an odd look as they walked, and Steve said, ‘What?’

‘You look softer when you’re with her,’ Bucky said, and there was a shade of something in his voice. Not jealousy, but maybe – melancholy. A melancholy wish for Steve to have had a chance with Peggy, even at the cost of Bucky’s happiness.

But Steve just smiled and squeezed his hand. ‘Yeah, but I _feel_ softer when I’m with you.’

 

  1. _A small apartment._



_Bucky Barnes pushes open the door, and triumphantly waves his enlistment papers. A big bold **1-A** is emblazoned on the front, and Steve tastes bile in the back of his throat._

_Then Bucky grins, and there’s blood in his teeth behind the cocky smile, so much blood, so much red, and then he’s in his military uniform, and there’s a chain around his neck, and he’s being pulled back out of the apartment into darkness and all Steve can do is scream –_

 

‘God fucking damnit,’ Steve said, gasping awake. ‘I hate the _fucking_ military.’

‘Me too, doll,’ Bucky mumbled beside him, and pulled Steve’s head against his chest.

 

Another day, another Hydra base. Seriously, why the hell were there so many?

This one was looking like another easy win. A couple of snipers outside that Bucky and Sam took out easily, and then one big push through the front doors. Should be home in time for dinner and a movie.

And then everything went to shit. Turned out that this might have been where most of the rest of Hydra was hiding out, since they stepped around a corner in the base and straight into a bullet hailstorm. ‘I fuckin’ hate Hydra,’ Steve muttered under his breath as he ducked behind a concrete column, and heard both Bucky and Sam snicker over the comms. ‘Alright, I’m going to toss the shield and draw ‘em away from you guys. Ready?’

Steve launched the shield around the column, and the fire followed it for just long enough for him to duck out and run and slam himself into a Hydra agent. Across the room, Bucky and Sam were doing the same – the shield had rebounded straight into Bucky’s waiting hand, and he was using it like he was born to it. Steve spun and kicked a guy in the side of the head, using the momentum to carry himself forward and punch the next.

That was most of the guys around him, he thought, better get over to where Bucky and Sam were keeping the fight alive –

And then Steve felt chills all down his spine. The kinda chills that cavemen developed for knowing when a tiger was about to pounce on you.

Like in slow motion, he turned to see a Hydra agent a couple of meters away pointing a hand gun at him. The guy’s finger tightened on the trigger, and Steve didn’t have his shield to deflect the fire, and there was nowhere to hide and Christ, after everything he’d been through what a dumb way to go –

And then Bucky was spinning him out of the way and the hand gun spat twice.

Afterwards, Steve didn’t even remember taking out the rest of the base. He just remembered seeing Bucky drop, and seeing the red blooming, and then his vision was all red until suddenly he was scooping Bucky up in his arms and stepping over the bodies of Hydra agents.

‘Sam, get the fucking Quinjet going,’ he said, and then, _‘Sam, get the fucking Quinjet going –’_

‘Ste – Stevie?’ Bucky said from in his arms as Steve ran for the Quinjet, doing his best not to jostle him.

‘I’m here, I’m here, you’re gonna be okay, we’re gonna be fine –’ Steve was babbling as he hopped up the ramp of the Quinjet and it pulled shut behind him. ‘I’m right here, doll, okay?’ He set Bucky down so carefully, swallowing thickly at all the red. Christ, that was a lot of blood. Two shots. Both in centre mass. _Christ_.

He knelt down beside Bucky, frantically searching through the medical kit as the Quinjet took off. ‘I need you to put pressure here, sweetheart, okay?’ He pressed a cloth into Bucky’s left hand and guided it to one of the bullet wounds. ‘It’s gonna hurt but you gotta, alright?’

Bucky nodded and pressed, wincing. Steve put pressure on the other wound, using his free hand to smooth back Bucky’s hair away from his face. ‘Hey, you’re doing so good, okay, I love you so much, alright, just hold on – Jarvis, call Tony – you’re going to be fine –’

Tony answered in record time, voice sounding slightly electronic-y as it filled the Quinjet cabin. ‘What’s up, Rogers?’

‘We need doctors at Stark Tower.’

‘Is this a stubbed toe type situation or something more serious?’

‘Bucky’s been shot twice, Tony.’ Steve took a shaky breath and added, ‘We can’t take him to a hospital because he’s still technically a fugitive, and I know you can call people, please, Tony –’

Tony sounded like he was walking on the other end of the phone now, or maybe running. ‘Jarvis says you’re ten minutes out. I’ll have people here in five. Steve, breathe. It’s going to be fine.’

 

By the time they landed the Quinjet, Bucky had gone ash-white and his hand had slipped off the wound – Steve was pressing on both of the bullet holes now. And then the back of the Quinjet was opening, and a veritable crowd of medical personnel were gently easing him away and sliding Bucky onto a stretcher, and Steve was running after them, chasing Bucky – until they vanished behind the doors of the medical facilities, and a doctor very politely informed Steve he wasn’t allowed any further while surgery was happening.

‘Please,’ Steve said, ‘Please, you have to let me see him – you have to let me be with him –’

_I only just got him back, I only just found him again –_

But then Sam was there, catching his shoulder. ‘Steve, you gotta let them do their thing.’

Steve looked down at the blood on his hands, the blood on his suit, the blood on his _soul_ , and felt nothing but numb.

 

Sam forced him to have a shower and change, or else Steve would have just sat on the ground outside the medical suite in his uniform until there was news. ‘You have to take care of yourself too, okay? They’re worrying about your boy so you can worry about you.’

Steve scrubbed his hands for ten minutes straight, heat cranked up real high, until the skin was red and nearly raw. It still wasn’t enough to feel like he’d washed away the blood – could still feel it bubbling up from the bullet holes in Bucky’s body, like it’d be ingrained in his palms forever. He scrubbed for another ten minutes after that thought, and then at least the blood on his palms was his own.

But afterwards, Steve didn’t feel like talking – like eating – like sleeping – and so with no other options, he found himself back in the corridor outside the medical suite. Someone had put some chairs out, at least, and he sunk gratefully into one.

He had no idea how long he sat there, alone – minutes? Hours? Head bowed down, elbows on his knees, hands interlaced across the back of his neck. When he focused on his breathing and nothing else, he could almost forget how Bucky’s blood felt on his hands.

Then footsteps approached. Steve didn’t look up, and the person just silently sat in the chair next to him. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard you that scared before,’ Tony said, and it could have been such a mocking statement coming from him but it wasn’t, somehow. ‘You really care about him.’

‘I love him,’ Steve said thickly, and those words came to his tongue so easily now.

And then Tony was resting a hand on his back lightly, and saying, ‘Steve, I’m going to make you a promise. Barnes will always be safe here. No matter what.’

Steve swallowed around the lump in his throat and found himself smiling, just ever-so-slightly. ‘Thanks, Tony.’

 

It was another two hours before anyone came out of the medical suite, but Tony stayed there the entire time, waiting quietly with Steve.

 

‘Captain Rogers?’ The door to the medical suite swung open, and Steve sat up and turned so quickly he near gave himself a crick in the neck.

‘I’m here,’ Steve said, ‘What’s, um –’ and he had to take a breath before continuing because he almost didn’t want to know, now, didn’t want to hear someone say Bucky was _gone_ – ‘How’s he looking?’

‘He’s stable,’ the doctor said, and Steve felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. ‘You saved his life, keeping pressure on the wounds the way you did.’ She gestured at the door. ‘You’re welcome to go in and sit with him, if you’d like. He’s not under anaesthetic anymore, but his wounds were severe. He could be unconscious for a long time.’

A long time – _a long time_ – Steve had spent a _long time_ in the ice, and then he’d spent a _long time_ being Captain America in a world that didn’t want Steve Rogers, and then he’d spent a _long time_ searching for Bucky, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let a little time stop him now that Bucky was here with him.

‘Thank you,’ Steve said, and had to wipe his eyes, ‘Thank you – thank you so much –’ He turned and clasped Tony’s shoulder, giving him a watery smile, and Tony smiled back. Then Steve stood, steeled himself, and made his way inside.

Bucky’s bed was tucked into one of the little curtained alcoves, and Steve made a beeline straight over to him. He felt his throat tighten a little and swallowed thickly – because standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at Bucky, he felt so utterly _useless_. This was the one thing he couldn’t fight for Bucky – Bucky had to pull through this for himself. But right now, Bucky looked so goddamn small and fragile.

Steve had never really been any good when Bucky got sick or hurt – always too much of a worrier. Always used to fret over him, dabbing at his forehead with a damp cloth and hovering too much in his space. Then Steve’d wind up sick too, since he caught things so easily, and Bucky made looking after him look effortless. Spoon-feeding him homemade soup, making him laugh when his body could stand to, reading to him when he couldn’t manage it himself – Steve had never been any good at any of that. Not for lack of trying.

There was a chair to the right of where Bucky was propped up in bed, and Steve pulled it up close and sat down. Careful not to disturb any of the medical equipment, he took Bucky’s hand in his and pressed a kiss to it. ‘You’re an idiot, James Buchanan, you hear me?’ He said softly. ‘I ain’t worth this.’

The room was unsettlingly silent – broken only by Bucky’s soft breaths and the quiet beeps of the machines. Hospitals always made Steve nervous. Way back, he’d avoided them like the plague – he knew that if he was sick enough to go to a hospital, he was sick enough to never come back out. The hospital was where his ma had caught tuberculosis, working on the TB ward. He still remembered visiting her towards the end, when it had really gotten its claws into her.

Bucky’s warm hand clasped tight on his tiny shoulder, a handkerchief held across his face in hopes it might stop him getting sick, too. He couldn’t even get close, in case she coughed near him. It felt harsh, but she was a nurse. She understood.

She’d just smiled at him, bright blue eyes sunk in their sockets, nothing left of his strong ma but skin and bones, and said, ‘Everything’s gonna be fine, Stevie, don’t you worry.’ And then she’d looked at Bucky and said, ‘You look after him, now, y’hear?’ And then she’d turned and coughed up blood into a cloth, lungs wheezing like an asthma attack, sweat bright on her forehead.

They’d buried her three days later.

Bucky had looked after him, though. He’d done Sarah Rogers proud. Above and beyond.

Steve leaned in, gently brushing hair back out of Bucky’s face and running the back of a finger up and down Bucky’s cheek. It was his turn, now. He could look after Bucky.

Steve gently lay his head down on the edge of Bucky’s bed – a bit of an odd angle, but it was a small price to pay to be closer. He could just close his eyes for a bit. He was still holding Bucky’s hand, and the world could go on without them for a while.

Bucky’s breaths were so even and reassuring. Steve thought he could listen to them forever.

 

Steve woke when Bucky’s hand wrenched out of his grip, going from asleep to upright in under a second. He was ready to fight, he was ready to get a doctor – but it was just Bucky, looking like he was calming down now that he’d spotted Steve. ‘Hey, punk,’ Bucky said, voice low and raspy.

‘Hey yourself,’ Steve said, mouth twitching between worry and joy before finally settling into a smile. ‘You want a drink?’

Steve turned his chair back up the right way and helped Bucky talk a careful sip of water. Then he said, carefully, ‘So what you did – that was a real goddamn stupid thing to do.’

Bucky huffed a laugh, and then winced. ‘It’s not like I was going to let your dumb ass take a couple of bullets. Ain’t going to be responsible for damage to the abs of America.’

‘Christ, Buck,’ Steve said, after a surprised laugh, ‘It’s not like I ain’t been shot before.’ But that brought up too many unpleasant memories – like the fact that the last person to shoot Steve had been Bucky – and so Steve rapidly switched tack. ‘But honest, Buck, I don’t want you doing this kinda thing.’ He leaned over and took Bucky’s hand again, giving it a gentle, gentle squeeze. ‘I hate it when you get hurt. Promise you won’t do something like it again.’

‘I ain’t gonna promise what I can’t keep, Steve,’ Bucky said. ‘But I promise I’ll always come home safe to you.’ And then he gave Steve a smile so endearing that Steve had no option but to roll his eyes and smile back.

‘Can’t exactly fault you for somethin’ I woulda done in your shoes, I guess. So long as you keep that promise.’

‘Way I see it, a couple’a bullets ain’t going to do me in. I survived falling from a train and being the Winter Soldier – gonna take more than that to keep me from you, doll.’

Steve laughed softly, and reached up to brush Bucky’s hair back from his face. ‘Guess Brooklyn just makes her boys tough, huh?’

 

Bucky wasn’t allowed out of bed for three days, and even though he played it up for the first day, by day two he was already grouchy. ‘This is stupid, Steve,’ he said eventually, sitting fully upright and making like he was going to swing his legs out of the bed.

‘Buck – Bucky!’ Steve caught his shoulders, gently but firmly pushing him back down. ‘Doctor’s orders. You got two holes in your stomach, you ain’t going nowhere.’

‘I’m fine, you punk,’ he said, and crossed his arms like he was trying to prove it – but the wince that escaped him proved kinda the opposite. ‘I don’t want to sit in here like the Queen of Sheba while all the action’s happening out there.’

Steve snorted. About all the action that was happening at the moment was a mere media frenzy, and he told Bucky so. Somehow, word had gotten out that a medical team had been called to Stark Tower, and reporters were practically beating down the doors trying to find out which member of the team had been hurt – how severe it was – how long they were going to be out of commission.

‘And we can’t exactly say oh yeah, it’s the fugitive we’ve been hiding on the 81st floor,’ Steve concluded. ‘I’m half tempted just to say it was me. Gives me an excuse to not talk to reporters for a while. Actually –’ he tapped out a quick message to Pepper, letting her know that might be the best plan. They were going to have to tell the world about Bucky – needed to – but it should wait until after Hydra was out of the picture.

‘And you really think we can get away with telling people that _you_ got shot?’ Bucky said, sceptically, and Steve turned his widest, most sincere eyes on him.

‘Why, Buck, do you think _Captain America_ would just _lie_ to the press?’ He held his composure for all of about a second before cracking and laughing, and Bucky rolled his eyes but laughed too, and let out a little huff at the pain that caused. ‘Sorry, Buck,’ Steve said, sobering up real quick at that sound. ‘I can leave you alone if you want – I don’t wanna strain you –’

‘Don’t be stupid, Steve,’ Bucky said, and flashed him a stunning smile. ‘You’re worth a little pain.’

Steve didn’t know how to answer that, just smiled shyly and ducked his head, and then Bucky shuffled over on the bed a little and patted the empty spot beside him. ‘C’mon, bed’s big enough for two. I didn’t get shot so’s you could sit out of arm’s reach.’

Steve smiled fondly and sat down on the bed, swinging his legs up beside Bucky and leaning back to lay beside him. He leaned in for a gentle kiss, a promise of something more another time. ‘We’re gonna be just fine,’ he said, forehead on Bucky’s, Bucky’s breath on his lips, and Bucky smiled back.

 

By the time Bucky was properly allowed out of bed, Steve had gotten a call to say the work was all finished on his apartment. Despite him telling Bucky that they could stay in Stark Tower for longer if he wanted, and despite the doctors all saying it’d be better to stay close to the medical facilities even with his accelerated healing, Bucky was insistent – he wanted to go home. And home was Steve’s apartment in Brooklyn.

Even though he could walk alright on his own, Steve still had an arm firmly around Bucky’s waist as they stood together in front of the apartment doors. The key clicked in the lock, and they pushed open the door together to find – an apartment that looked like it had never been the subject of a break-in and firefight by Hydra.

‘Oh, this looks good,’ Bucky said, slipping out of his arm and making his way inside.

‘I had them redo a couple of the rooms in ways I’d been planning for a while,’ Steve said. ‘Like a bigger kitchen. Hey, go check out the bathroom.’

Bucky made his way down the hall, fingers trailing along one wall for a little support. ‘Oh shit,’ he said, peering into the bathroom. ‘Steve, I could kiss you.’

Steve laughed and caught up with him. ‘You’re allowed to if you want.’ The bathroom had been expanded (at the price of the spare room shrinking – sorry, Sam) and in the corner now, there sat an enormous bathtub.

‘Well, I guess we gotta christen the place now, right?’ Bucky said, and grinned as he pulled Steve down and in for a kiss.

‘Thought the doctors said nothing strenuous for three weeks?’ Steve pulled back a little, half a smile on his face.

‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ Bucky said, and kissed him again. ‘We can take it nice and slow.’

 

It was nice, actually, having some enforced downtime. It gave them time to get into the rhythm of having just the two of them around, no other Avengers unexpectedly bursting in. Lazy mornings, relaxed days, comfortable nights spent curled up on the couch binge-watching Netflix.

They spent an entire day watching all the Captain America movies that’d been made in the 70 years they were both out of commission. All various genres and styles – heavy war movies, dramatic political thrillers, and one notable peak-90s action film.

‘Y’know, I don’t think you ever took off a Nazi’s head with that shield,’ Bucky said pensively, as on-screen, Captain America (Brad Pitt) did exactly that.

‘Not for lack of trying,’ Steve said, head tilted against Bucky’s shoulder, as Captain America then proceeded to give a rousing speech to a bunch of soldiers. On-screen Bucky Barnes (John Stamos) let out a cheer, and Bucky snorted.

‘I don’t think I was ever that moved by your speeches, either.’

Steve hummed absently, and then he remembered something and said, ‘No, one time you definitely said ‘Let’s hear it for Captain America’.’

‘Yeah, because I thought you were about to kiss Peggy and I’m an asshole,’ Bucky said.

‘Oh, so you’re the jealous type, huh?’ Steve teased, and turned his head to press a kiss to Bucky’s jaw. Bucky didn’t say anything, just smiled and reached a hand up to thread fingers through Steve’s hair.

 

Regular check-ins back at Stark Tower meant that Bucky was getting his bandages taken properly off just two and a half weeks after getting shot. ‘Thank god for super-soldier serum, huh?’ He said with a grin up at Steve from where he was perched, shirtless, on the edge of the hospital bed. ‘Don’t think I could take any more fussing.’ He stretched then, long and languid, and Steve’s mouth went dry at the sight of lean muscle shifting and tensing under skin.

Then, like he was suddenly realising his full range of scars was on display, Bucky seemed to retreat back in a little – smile fading from his face. ‘Couple more scars to add to the collection, I guess,’ he said, like he was trying to play it off. Almost self-consciously, he glanced down and rubbed a thumb over one of the newly pink scars.

Steve huffed a breath and stepped forward into Bucky’s space, in between his legs, resting soft hands on his waist. ‘You’re about to say something hideous sappy, I can feel it,’ Bucky said, looking back up.

Steve laughed and said, ‘Just wondering how I got the best-looking guy in Brooklyn.’

‘Wow, only Brooklyn? There some better-looking asshole in Queens or something?’ Bucky said, but he was smiling again as he leaned up to kiss Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Hemingway.


	8. My Name Is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look Upon My Works, Ye Mighty, and Despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title’s from Byron’s Ozymandias, but ironically; read into it what you will.
> 
> I just had my last exam of the semester and I may have had a little too much to drink (had a knock-out mojito) so you're getting the final chapter today as well (2 for the price of 1)!

A few days later, the two of them were out for a walk. Bucky looked like he was enjoying the sunlight on his face, and Steve was just enjoying watching Bucky. They’d been going for a lot of walks recently – rediscovering Brooklyn. How it’d changed, but also how it’d stayed the same. Like how that bodega on the corner a couple of blocks away was still there – different name, different coat of paint, but the same store.

Kinda like them, really.

Up ahead, Steve spotted Cadman Plaza Park, and he squeezed Bucky’s hand. ‘Hey, Buck, you remember the park?’

Bucky glanced up ahead at it, and then looked back at Steve. ‘Sure. You got beat up there a lot, right?’

Steve snorted. ‘Might have done. You know they put in a war memorial? Got our names on it and everything.’

‘No shit?’ And they might have talked about it more, gone and looked at the war memorial, if it wasn’t for the crowd at the park. Well – two crowds. One peaceful, one – not so much.

‘I wonder what’s happening,’ Steve said, and adjusted course to head towards whatever was going on.

Hm. Okay, so peaceful crowd – a bunch of kids, by the looks of it. Oldest were early twenties. Backpacks, picnic rugs – looked like a nice day out. Bunch of pride flags, so some kinda LGBTQ+ event.

Rowdy crowd? Opposite end of the spectrum. Looked like they were yelling at the kids, and from the way the kids were looking, it had to be hate speech. Christ.

‘C’mon,’ Steve said, like Bucky ever needed any encouragement to follow him, making his way over into the thick of the peaceful crowd. Right in the middle there was a blonde girl who looked like she might be in charge, and he made a beeline for her. ‘Excuse me? Miss?’

‘If you’re coming to insult me, you’ll have to –’ And then she turned and saw _Captain America_ , and her eyes got real big. ‘Oh – uh, oh my god.’

‘Nah, he only acts like Jesus Christ,’ Bucky said from beside him, and Steve elbowed him gently without even looking.

‘Sorry, I was just wondering – what’s going on here?’

‘Uh –’ said the girl, and then she seemed to snap back into the strong-leader thing she’d had going on before Steve threw her off. ‘We had a local pride event planned. For young LGBT people to come and hang out together and make friends, you know? Picnic lunch.’ She gestured round at the discarded blankets. ‘But I guess word got out, and pretty soon these people showed up. It’s not violent yet, but –’ she waved her hands around in a way probably meant to show impending doom.

‘It’s alright. I’ll see if I can’t sort them out, Miss…?’

‘Dean. Karolina Dean,’ she said, and held her hand out to shake.

Steve shook it, and then narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and said, ‘We met at pride, right? I bought a flag off of you.’

Almost like she couldn’t help it, Karolina turned and hissed, ‘I told you!’ at the girl standing next to her, and then blushed almost instantly. The girl beside her rolled her eyes but smiled. ‘This is Nico, my girlfriend,’ Karolina said, quickly, like she was trying to recover. ‘It’s an honour to meet you, sir.’

‘God, please, call me Steve,’ Steve said with a wide smile. ‘And this is my –’ he glanced over at Bucky, still not really sure what to call him.

‘– idiot who follows him everywhere,’ Bucky finished for him. ‘I’m Bucky. Nice to meet you girls.’

Steve beamed at Bucky, and then stood a little straighter and looked over the crowd. ‘Alright, what’s the best way to do this…’ he said, and then glanced back at Bucky with a grin. He leaned in real close to his ear and said, ‘Hey, do you want to make a whole bunch of people really really fuckin’ mad?’

Bucky just grinned back and said, ‘Pal, when _don’t_ I?’

Steve looked back at Karolina and Nico and smiled, saying, ‘It was real lovely to meet you two. We’ll get this sorted right out for all you folks.’ And then he was back pushing through the crowd, Bucky holding onto his hand and grinning ear to ear.

It wasn’t hard to get through a crowd of well-mannered teenagers when you were 6-foot-something, and soon Steve found himself stepping out into the gap between the two crowds. In front of him, a woman was midway through, ‘– and you’ll burn in hell unless you –’ but cut herself off quickly.

‘Captain America?’ She said, eyes wide, and Steve smiled that reassuring Captain America smile.

‘That’s me, ma’am. I’m here to see if we can’t resolve this peacefully.’ And she looked at him like she almost might listen, and Steve was real hopeful for half a moment, until she said:

‘But you can’t really agree with these people’s _lifestyle choices_ , can you?’

 _‘Lifestyle choices?’_ Bucky said beside him, right as Steve said,

‘Okay, fuck this,’

And dipped Bucky real low and kissed him hard.

It was a decent kiss, and Steve grinned into it as he heard shrieks from both crowds – half the shrieks ecstatic, half horrified.

Steve came back up for air and said, real loud, ‘Fuck you, I’m bisexual!’

 

Not exactly the coming out he’d imagined, but somehow it was the one he needed.

 

               **Tony**  
               I just ordered 100 ‘Fuck you, I’m bisexual’ shirts  
               You are so welcome

 

The only footage of it was shaky phone video, but within the hour #fuckyouimbisexual was trending on Twitter. And Tumblr. And pretty much every other social media site on the planet.

 

 **Sam**  
dude when i told you that you needed to be more comfortable with yourself  
this isnt quite what i imagined  
but congrats on coming out

Bucky flipped the TV channel to another news show, where they were showing the video again. Best part of the future – the quality of video. Whoever had filmed this may have had slightly shaky hands, but that didn’t matter when it was high enough definition you could almost make out the individual pores on Steve’s face as, for the hundredth time that day on loop, he yelled, ‘Fuck you, I’m bisexual!’

Bucky just cackled at it, just like he had the other 99 times. ‘Christ, Steve, you always were dramatic,’ he said.

But the news anchor was talking now, and Bucky managed to rein himself in long enough to listen.

‘… footage appears to show none other than Steve Rogers, better known as Captain America, coming out as bisexual at an LGBT event,’ the anchor said, and Steve thought he must have the hardest goddamn job in the world right now to keep a straight face through this. ‘We have yet to receive any formal statement from the Avengers or Captain Rogers, although we expect there to be an official confirmation or denial in the near future. Something also being commented on in the video is the identity of the man, and the fact that he appears to bear an uncanny resemblance to Captain Rogers’ pre-war best friend – James Buchanan Barnes.’ They put a picture of Bucky up in his military uniform, and Bucky slapped Steve’s chest with the back of his hand. ‘Is this an instance of another soldier finding himself 70 years out of time? Or is Captain Rogers finding solace in someone who looks like the man he lost?’

‘Aw, Stevie,’ Bucky said, hand clutched over his heart, ‘They think you’re still hung up on me!’ And then he dissolved into laughter again, and Steve couldn’t help himself from laughing right along with him.

 

In the end, they had to put out an official statement. Pepper wanted to dress it up in nice polite legal language (‘Steve, you can’t just swear your way out of problems,’ she tried to explain to him over a Skype call) but Steve really wanted the official statement to also read ‘Fuck you, I’m bisexual’.

In the end, they reached a compromise: no swearing, but no long documents regarding it. Plain and simple. Pepper had still looked pained when Steve told her what he wanted it to say, but at least she wrote and released it verbatim (no doubt years of dealing with Tony had numbed her to outrageous requests). The statement that went out to the media:

_‘Captain Rogers thanks you for your interest in his love life, and would like to confirm that yes, he is very bisexual.’_

 

               **Tony**  
               Your boy-toy’s arm is done  
               If you guys aren’t too busy upstaging me you can come get it fixed

 

As they took the elevator up in Stark Tower a couple of days later, Steve was reminded of the very first time he and Bucky had come here. But this time the circumstances couldn’t be further removed and, as the doors dinged open on the lab floor and he took Bucky’s hand, he was thankful for it.

‘Alright, Barnes, get your butt on that stool and I will be right over,’ Tony said, pulling a screwdriver out of his mouth and waving it vaguely. Then he stood, picking up a case a couple of feet long and carting it over to the bench beside the two of them. ‘You know, I just want to say before we do this – I’m very disappointed in you, Steve.’ Steve blinked, but before he could even question it Tony continued with, ‘How am I ever meant to top that video? _I’m_ meant to be the outrageous Avenger, but you yelled ‘Fuck you, I’m bisexual’ at a bunch of Bible-thumpers.’

Bucky snorted a laugh and said, ‘Pal, we’re just gettin’ started.’

Steve just shrugged and said, ‘Sorry Tony. I’ll try tone it down in the future.’ He sounded completely serious and earnest, but Tony just narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously.

‘Ever since Barnes showed up, I’ve realised I can’t trust you anymore,’ he said. ‘You know I used to think you were pathologically incapable of lying? God, to be so naïve.’ He shook his head and said, ‘But we’re getting side-tracked from the main event here – my work of genius. My magnum opus. My Mona Lisa –’

‘Give me my fuckin’ arm, Stark,’ Bucky said, and Tony rolled his eyes.

‘Oh, what, so _now_ you’ve got no sense of the dramatic?’ But he clicked open the case and tipped it forward to show Steve and Bucky. The new arm matched the current one fairly well – minus the godawful Hydra programming, Steve guessed. It was a little flasher, though, less death weapon – the metal joinery was smoother and less industrial-style. ‘Oh, and Steve had some creative insight.’ Tony picked up the arm out of the case, turning it to show Bucky the shoulder – and the star on it.

But not a red star. A white one, surrounded by circles of blue and red – a perfect match for Steve’s shield. Steve flushed red across his cheekbones and up his ears as Bucky just stared at it. Was it too much? Too much to presume Bucky would want to spend the rest of his time with this arm with Steve’ symbol on it – was it too possessive? But then Bucky looked at Steve and cracked a grin, and Steve smiled back. ‘Looks good, Stevie,’ he said, and pulled Steve down for a kiss.

‘Okay, time out, let’s tone it down with the old man PDA,’ Tony said. ‘Also, _Stevie_? We’re going to be coming back to that one later, Rogers. Left arm out straight, Barnes.’

Steve stepped back and to Bucky’s right, taking his right hand and interlacing their fingers.

‘Okay, so, this shouldn’t hurt,’ Tony said, tinkering somewhere in the vicinity of Bucky’s left armpit with the screwdriver. ‘It may feel weird, though.’ He seemed to line the screwdriver with something, narrowed his eyes, and _pressed_ – a couple of loud clunks came from inside the arm, some mechanical whirring, and then it came free, leaving Tony holding it.

Bucky canted to the right slightly, ending up leaning against Steve. God, he looked like such a weight had just come off of him – not just physically, either. Until now, Steve hadn’t really appreciated just how much he must have still felt tied to Hydra with that thing on him – feeling like they still had a hold over him. ‘Better?’ Steve said, and Bucky looked up at him and smiled.

‘Weird. But much better.’

Then Tony said, ‘Oh what the fuck –’ and dropped the metal arm as the fingers twitched. It hit the ground with a dull thud as he jumped back, fingers seizing once more and opening and closing sporadically.

Steve frowned, carefully leaning forward and nudging it with a foot. The entire arm twitched this time, hand twisting like it was trying to move towards him.

‘What the _fuuuuck_ ,’ Tony said again.

‘This is like a horror movie,’ Bucky said, fascinated. ‘I guess it’s in case I ever got compromised on a mission – the arm could fight for me.’

‘Okay, that’s an entire suitcase worth of crazy I don’t want to unpack,’ Tony said, and then whistled. ‘Dum-E? Can you deal with this?’ A robot trundled out of the corner of the workshop, and seemed to regard the arm, making a noise that sounded almost – questioning. ‘Yeah, the arm, idiot. Pick it up and put it somewhere it won’t try to kill us.’

The robot made another sound, like it was reluctant, but reached down and picked up the arm by the shoulder end. The arm twitched again, hand moving to try and reach the robot – but it couldn’t, and the robot trundled happily off.

Tony watched it go, and then turned back and said, ‘Well, if nothing else the arm I made won’t try to kill people. So it’s got that going for it.’ He hoisted it up out of the case, lined up the connections on the shoulder with the arm, and then very carefully slid it into place. It locked in with a soft click, and Bucky canted back upright again. But he still looked pleased, and Steve knew the physical weight of the arm had never been a factor.

‘Give it a whirl,’ Tony said, stepping back, and Bucky looked down at it and very slowly flexed his fingers. ‘Good?’

Now Bucky was holding his arm out straight, turning his hand this way and that like he’d never seen it before – eyes wide like a child. ‘I guess,’ he said, even though his grin completely betrayed him.

Then he looked up at Steve, and his grin was infectious. ‘Hey, sweetheart,’ he said, ‘Want to go punch some Hydra assholes?’

 

Not long after, they were at another Hydra base. This time, Steve wasn’t going to just burst in – they were more careful. The three of them were taking separate paths through the bunker, quietly taking out Hydra agents – keeping their attack on the downlow. After all, Steve did _not_ want a repeat of last time.

And then someone burst through a fuckin’ wall. Classic Hydra.

The guy was clad in a bulky armoured suit with metal gauntlets, and had a helmet on – the exposed skin behind the helmet looked gnarled and scarred. Black and white scheme. White cross over the chest. And – it was weird, but the way the guy moved seemed oddly familiar. Like Steve had seen him fight before.

‘There you are, you son of a bitch!’ The guy yelled and fuck, of course Steve knew him.

Goddamn Rumlow. Shoulda known he was too goddamn stubborn to stay dead.

‘I’ve been waiting for this! Come on! This is for dropping a building on my fucking face!’ Steve ducked a punch, and a metal gauntlet whirred by, entirely too close to his face for comfort. He had to vault backwards to avoid the next swing, and then again for the next. Then something inside one of the gauntlets jammed, just for half a second – and Steve had time to take his shield to one of them, back on the offensive.

Now he was pushing Rumlow back, finally landing a blow so brutal it shattered his helmet. Rumlow staggered back, falling to his knees. He looked worried now, not angry. Like he’d never actually thought Steve might beat him.

‘He remembered you, you know,’ Rumlow started, desperate, and Steve hesitated from the knock-out blow he was about to land. ‘Your pal, your buddy, your Bucky. I was there; he got all weepy about it. Before we put his brain in a blender. Guess you’ll never get him back now.’

A few months ago, that might have done Steve in. It might have been enough to make him stop – any chance to get Bucky back.

But that was a few months ago, and this was now.

‘Oh, you haven’t heard?’ Steve said, right as Bucky came up behind Steve, leaned a forearm on his shoulder, and said conversationally,

‘Your Bucky. I like the sound of that, Steve.’

The momentary look of crushing-fucking-defeat on Rumlow’s face would have been significantly more funny if he hadn’t then pulled out a detonator and said, ‘Oh, that’s really sweet. Guess you assholes can die together too, then.’

Steve reacted instantly, wrapping an arm around Bucky and shoving him behind him – pulling the shield up in front. But he didn’t even need to worry, because Sam swooped in from the left and kicked Rumlow in the head – instant knock-out. ‘Damn, that felt good. That guy’s an asshole,’ he said, and grinned.

 

Later, Steve and Bucky kissed in front of the last burning Hydra base.

Melodramatic? Maybe. Satisfying? Fuck yes.

 

‘I cannot believe,’ Sam said, ‘Honest-to-god, hand-on-heart, _cannot believe_ that Hydra was defeated by the power of true love. Imagine being a terrorist organisation for 70 years and you get taken down by some geriatrics in love.’

Steve snorted from where he was lying on the couch with his head in Bucky’s lap. ‘Guess they picked the wrong centenarians to mess with,’ he said, and laughed. Bucky smoothed a thumb across his forehead, fingers in Steve’s hair, and he could see he was smiling too.

 

Steve was flicking through TV channels absently a day or two later, when a news show caught his eye. They were talking about him. _Of course_.

‘… so in light of recent events with Captain Rogers, we’ve invited a guest on the show to discuss him with us. Today I’ll be speaking to Professor Tom Morita, World War 2 historian and grandson of James Morita – a member of the Howling Commandos who served with Captain America in the war.’

‘Thank you for having me on the show.’ Tom was the spitting image of Jim Morita – it actually brought a lump to Steve’s throat. He looked entirely cool, calm, and confident being interviewed, and Steve had to wonder what he was going to say.

‘So, a lot has happened recently with Captain America. We’ve had two – _interesting_ – press conferences, and then he was at Pride, and then of course there was his controversial coming out,’ the news anchor said, and Steve wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or disappointed that they didn’t play the video again. ‘A lot of people are calling this him finally going off the rails in the 21st century. But Professor, you have a different opinion…?’

‘I do,’ Tom said, and then settled into his seat more comfortably. ‘I think the issue people are having here is the reconciliation between Captain America, the figurehead, and Steve Rogers, the man. My grandfather served with Captain Rogers, so I have first-hand accounts of the man, and I’ve also done extensive research. We have a cultural image of Captain America – we built him up into this myth that we’ve sustained for 70 years. And now that he’s really here, he’s acting differently to how we imagined he would be and that’s throwing people.’

‘So why do you think we’re only seeing a difference now, two years after waking up?’

‘I think that for the last two years, since he woke up out of the ice, Steve Rogers has been playing a part,’ Tom said. ‘I mean, think back to that very first press conference he did – right after the Battle of New York. Most people have forgotten it, because it doesn’t fit with the narrative, but during it, Captain Rogers expresses very clear, very liberal views. He’s not confused by the future – he seems to be adapting quickly. Compare that to the next press conference, where suddenly he’s meekly dodging political questions and acting as though he doesn’t understand a thing about modern times.’

‘And you think he’s not pretending anymore.’

‘I think that Captain Rogers has finally had enough. I think he’s finally figuring out who he is,’ Tom said. ‘I think that for the first time, we’re not just seeing Captain America – we’re seeing the man behind the shield. And I, for one, can’t wait to see what he does.’

Jim had always been sharp – shoulda known his grandkid would be too. Steve smiled and turned off the TV, and felt for the first time like maybe the future could handle him as Steve Rogers.

 

He framed that dumb dancing monkey drawing he’d done in the war, back when he was still selling war bonds. He’d thought about burning it, like some kind of symbol, but thought that might be too dramatic – besides, the picture had always made Bucky laugh. Bucky had always seen him as more than just window dressing for the army.

He put it up above the mantlepiece, and Bucky just watched him and smiled. ‘Thought you hated that drawing,’ Bucky said, and Steve put his hands on his hips, tilted his head as he looked at it, and said, a smile in his voice,

‘You know, I think it’s growing on me.’

Burning it would be forgetting. Steve didn’t want to forget where he’d been – he wanted to know how far he’d come.

 

‘Hey, I got something to show you,’ Steve said that night. He had a blanket slung over his shoulder and when Bucky frowned over at him, Steve just smiled wider.

‘Where?’

‘C’mon, Buck, trust me - it’s a surprise. It’s not far,’ he said, and extended a hand, and Bucky rolled his eyes but stood up off the couch and took Steve’s hand.

The night air was chilly but in a nice way – the kinda way that made you glad to be feeling it, glad to be alive. Bucky tucked in close against Steve’s side and Steve wrapped an arm around his waist, just enjoying the closeness. They only had to walk a couple of blocks to get to where Steve wanted to go – that spot where there used to be a park, where the two of them used to lay down and look at the stars on clear nights.

‘It’s a clear night,’ Steve turned and murmured to Bucky, who just smiled softly. ‘Figured it might be nice.’ It was all paved now – but the carpark was empty, so they had the run of the place to pick the best spot for the blanket. Steve laid it out flat, and then they lay down side by side, holding hands.

They took in the view above for a moment, before Bucky was the first to break the silence by saying, ‘Wow, all three of those stars look real pretty,’ real sarcastically.

Steve snorted and said, ‘Okay, yeah, way more light pollution nowadays. I didn’t think about that.’

The sky above did really only look like it held about three stars – and Steve had a sneaking suspicion that one of those three might actually be Mars, anyway. But the moon was pretty, at least, and it was nice lying down next to Bucky. He turned and pressed his face into Bucky’s neck, and even though Bucky let out a huff at first since his nose was cold, Steve could tell he was smiling.

Then something occurred to Steve, and he propped himself up on an elbow on his side to look down at Bucky, who looked at him back like he was the view they were there for.

‘Hey, you remember when we went to our old apartment? And we walked past here,’ Steve said. ‘You remembered something about when we used to come here, and you said you forgot it, but – I thought you mighta just been covering up. You said that when you used to come here, you’d look at the stars and think they were beautiful, but that they still weren’t as beautiful as something, but you wouldn’t say what.’

‘Yeah, I remember,’ Bucky said. ‘I still remember what I used to think, too.’

‘I just was curious what you used to think about,’ Steve said. He paused a moment and then continued, ‘Was it one’a the girls you were seeing back then?’ He wasn’t even really jealous at the thought – just curious more than anything. Why had Bucky not wanted to say?

Bucky just looked at him for a moment, the kinda look that suggested that Steve was missing something big. ‘How the hell did you ever trick the world into thinkin’ you’re smart, Steven Grant,’ he said, and then smiled fondly. ‘I used to lie here next to your skinny bones and look at the stars and think that they still weren’t as beautiful as your eyes whenever you looked at me.’ Then he leaned up and kissed Steve, and Steve laughed into the kiss, pulled back a little and said,

‘I may be an idiot, but at least I’m _your_ idiot.’

Bucky laughed too, in the cool night air, and said, ‘Just a couple of Brooklyn dumbasses through and through.’

The stars couldn’t follow them home through the light of the city, but the moon did – bathing them in silver light as they walked home, hand in hand.

 

‘Tonight on the show, we have a very special guest,’ the host started. ‘So I’d like to welcome Steve Rogers!’ A round of applause, and Steve stepped out into the brightly lit studio floor with a smile and a wave.

No more press conferences, he’d said. At least, no more press conferences that weren’t on his terms. He was tired of being interrogated by the press like they had a right to his personal life. No more publicity stunts for causes not worth it, either – the next politician who demanded he attend their daughters tenth birthday party was getting their nose broken. But hospital visits, charity fundraisers, pride events – they were worthwhile.

He wanted to do this on his terms. Use Captain America for good. And actually, finally, get the chance to let people know that it was Steve Rogers here.

‘It’s a pleasure to be here,’ he said with a wide smile, sitting down on the couch and leaning back comfortably.

Pepper had offered it to him – rather than go through with the whole press conference, why don’t you go on a show? she’d said. Stephen Colbert, or Jon Stewart. She could find someone who won’t spend the entire time talking about Captain America. That’d sounded vastly better than anything Steve had ever done before.

‘So I’m just going to start in with what we’ve all been dying to ask you about – the video. I think you know which one I’m talking about,’ the host said, and Steve turned to watch himself yell,

‘Fuck you, I’m bisexual!’ on screen once again.

He laughed, and it was so easy to laugh like this. Like he was finally allowed to be himself now. ‘Yeah, okay, I was probably asking for that with a statement like that. I mean, I guess it explains itself fairly well, right? I’m angry and I’m bisexual,’ he said with a grin.

‘So that wasn’t planned?’

‘Well, only in the sense that I’m always angry and always bi so it was bound to happen sooner or later,’ he said, and that got a laugh.

He’d talked to the host before, about what they’d talk about on the show, so the next question was easy to answer. ‘And, Steve, I think another burning question a lot of people have is about the mystery man with you in the video. Do you want to discuss that at all, or…?’

‘I would, actually. Please, let me introduce the world to my boyfriend –’ _boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend, he could say that word all goddamn day_ ‘– Bucky Barnes.’ Bucky stepped out on the studio floor, blinking in the lights. He looked nervous, but also pleased – pleased to finally be out in the open. Finally no longer hiding. He smiled and waved with a conspicuously metal hand, making his way over and sitting down beside Steve.

He was wearing a suit, and it was tailored so perfectly for him that it made Steve’s mouth go dry just to look at him. Steve blinked the stars out of his eyes, looking back over the host – who was making the exact shocked expression the two of them had talked backstage about him making, when Steve had first mentioned bringing Bucky in like this.

‘Bucky Barnes?’ The host said, and grinned. ‘Well, that is a surprise. Surely not the best-friend-from-the-40s Bucky Barnes?’

‘The one and only,’ Bucky said, and grinned too.

‘Well, Bucky – if you don’t mind me calling you that – I have to say that you’ve got a fairly bitchin’ metal arm,’ the host said.

Bucky pushed his left shirt sleeve up to his elbow, showing off the arm better. ‘Thanks. Just got an upgrade courtesy of Stark Industries,’ he said, and winked at the camera, and Steve couldn’t stop himself beaming at him. Bucky had always been a natural born showman.

‘So what did you have before?’

‘Oh, the shitty metal arm Hydra put on there,’ he said, like it was nothing. ‘Y’know, when I was the Winter Soldier.’

 

It caused a media shitshow, of course. Steve went viral, _again_ , but at least this time it was on his terms.

 

Steve took Bucky to the local farmer’s market, one weekend morning. They strolled hand in hand through the stalls, picking out what they needed for dinner. Sometimes it still blew Steve’s mind, the sheer volume of food the 21st century held – fresh fruit and vegetables in excess used to be a luxury, not a staple.

Bucky apparently agreed, since his eyes were wide as saucers as he looked at the stacks of fresh produce. ‘Steve, I don’t even know what this is,’ he said as he held up something pink and spiky.

Steve laughed and said, ‘Pal, neither do I.’

The older lady behind the stand just smiled at the two of them and said, ‘It’s a dragonfruit. They’re very good.’ She split one open for the two of them to try, and Bucky gawked at the fact that the inside of the fruit was white and black.

‘What the hell?’ He said, but tried it, and liked it.

‘We’ll take a bag of them,’ Steve said.

They bought fresh carrots and zucchini and tomatoes; honestly, Steve was more buying things for the look Bucky got than out of any real need for it. A man was selling tubs of raspberries, and even though they were hellish expensive he bought one, because Bucky had always loved raspberries.

Bucky’s eyes lit up at the sight of them, and soon the berries were all but gone – so Steve, of course, had to go back and buy two more tubs of the damn things.

When they’d made their way through the entire market, and were stood at the end, looking back over it, Bucky pulled Steve in for a kiss that tasted of raspberries. ‘Thank you,’ he said when he pulled back, and Steve smiled back.

‘For what?’ He said, catching a strand of hair and brushing it back behind Bucky’s ear.

‘For everything,’ Bucky said, and held his gaze levelly – blue eyes oh-so-pretty in the light of the morning sun. ‘For believing in me. For bringing me back. For thinking I’m worth it.’

‘You _are_ worth it,’ Steve said, and kissed him again, chasing the red sweetness of his lips. ‘You’ve always been worth it. You’re the true North on my compass, James Buchanan.’

‘You utter sap,’ Bucky said, but smiled and added, ‘I love you, Steve Rogers. And I ain’t afraid to say it.’

‘And I love you, Bucky Barnes,’ Steve said. ‘Ain’t afraid to say _that_ , neither.’

Steve wrapped an arm around Bucky, pulled him in close, and pressed a kiss to his temple. All the years he’d spent feeling wrong, like he’d never belong – they’d all been worth it. Every single one. So long as it always led him to this moment, this life.

Out of everything good the future had to offer, this was by far the best part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's that, folks! It's been a lot of fun both writing this and posting it for you - thank you so much for all the lovely comments I've been getting!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it - let me know what you thought :)


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